


Pretty Now

by natashawitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brainwashing, Hurt Dean Winchester, Kidnapping, M/M, Neglectful John Winchester, Pre-Series, Prostitution, Protective Sam Winchester, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome, Supernatural AU - Freeform, This is a dark fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-22
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 02:51:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/730714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natashawitch/pseuds/natashawitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driven to sell himself once more on the streets of Chicago, Dean finds a client who keeps him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One night in South Chicago

**Author's Note:**

> Characters from SPN are not mine.
> 
> Apologies for any non-American English, I tend to forget and you may see honour rather than honor, etc.
> 
> This is a dark fic. Really. So if you don't like that sort of thing, you have been warned.

SOUTH CHICAGO – April 1994

Dad hadn’t checked in since Monday, when he said he had a lead on a second black dog.

He had been due back on Wednesday. He wasn’t answering his cell phone.

It was 4pm on Thursday. 

Dean knew what he should do. He had a slip of paper with Jim Murphy’s phone number on it.

If he rang Jim and got him to drive seven hours to Chicago, only to have the Impala arrive before him; Dad would not be pleased to put it lightly.

He could wait another couple of days.

If Dad wasn’t back on Sunday afternoon he would act. Jim’s church duties would be done by lunch time and Dean could phone him. Dean set his lips in a determined line at his decision.

Dean stuffed the scrap of paper in his pocket. He carefully opened the broken door of the food cupboard and looked at the single packet of dried chicken noodles; the half can of alphabetti spaghetti and three cookies.

He got a brown paper bag and wrapped the cookies. Then he put a pot of water on for the noodles.

He heard a bus pull up and looked out the window to the busy street below. There was Sam and his school buddy Henry jumping onto the sidewalk. 

As he waited for Sam to come barrelling up the stairs, full of excitement at the unexpected bonus of still being in Chicago for the school sleepover at the museum, Dean checked the overnight bag he had packed for his little brother and stuffed the cookies down the side. He gave a smile at the thought of Sammy finding them when he unpacked later.

After their Wal-mart run on Sunday, there had been $25 left in the coffee jar. 

Dean had spent $5 on milk and bread. $4 on a box of lucky charms for Sam. $1 each day for Sammy’s lunch. $10 this morning with a forged parental slip for the museum trip. 

There was $5 in the jar. 

$1 for Sammy’s lunch tomorrow to be handed over to Sam this evening, as the pupils would go straight to school from the museum.  
$4 left..... He could get lucky charms, but not milk... or... he could buy new eyeliner and earn some money.

Dean hadn’t eaten since Tuesday morning.

“De, Dee!”

Sam must be extra buzzed if he was calling his brother Dee.

Dean put four notes in his jeans pocket and left one on the counter for Sam, and moved to unlock the deadbolt. The locks were the only things that worked in the crap apartment.

Sam nearly burst as he drew Dean in with his excitement at sleeping under actual dinosaurs and how Henry’s Mom, Mrs Hernandez was bringing a feast, and actual Puerto Rican feast, and Mrs Kawonowski was bringing a real actual Polish cake, that Aggie Kawonowski said she only made for actual Polish weddings, and that they had a spare sleeping bag for him so he wouldn’t have to bring the one from their bed, so Dean would have something to sleep under, wasn’t it great?

Dean’s mouth watered as he listened to the babbling speech. He was tempted to steal back the cookies, but it was important that Sam had something to offer back to Aggie and Henry or whoever. He tipped the noodles into a bowl and added the boiling water, stirring until they were soft, as Sam told him that he had scored an actual one hundred percent on his spelling test.

“That’s great, Sammy. Always say you are the brainiac. I’m proud of you. Now eat your noodles, it will be hours until your feast.” Dean rubbed his brother’s unruly mop as Sam took a stool at the counter.

“Where are your noodles, Dee?”

“I ate earlier, while you were lounging about in school.” Deflect from not eating.

“Why aren’t you going to school?” Deflection. Check. Score one for Dean.

“You know. I had the flu the week we arrived here, and Dad was gone before he could register me.”

“That’s crap Dean. You missed three weeks when we were in Louisiana too.”

“Doesn’t matter, Sammy. Come on finish up and have a shower, you don’t want the United Colours of South Chicago thinking that Winchesters stink. I’ve laid out clean threads for you and your bag is packed. You might want to add a book or something. There is a dollar next to you for tomorrow’s lunch. The bottle of water is holy water and there is a small pack of salt at the bottom of the bag. OK?”

“OK? We got any dessert. I could do a bowl of charms?”

“Nah. I must do groceries later.”

Sam gave him a bitchface. Dean sighed and pointed at the bathroom. 

Sam would never understand, and Dean would make sure that he didn’t have to.

By the time Sam was showered and had chosen a book to add to his overnight bag. It was time to go.  
Mrs Hernandez was at the door.

“Well you must be Dean? Where is your father? I want to reassure him that Sam will be fine with us. Henry said he only gave his permission this morning.”

Dean put on his best game face for the supersized Mom. “Hi Mrs Hernandez. Dad is working late. Its fine for Sam to go, I packed his bag for him.”

“Well aren’t you a darling? I am sorry to have missed your father.” She gave Dean a mildly suspicious look. He wondered what Sam had been telling Henry. Sam knew better than to draw unwanted attention on them, but he was only ten years old. Dean knew kids could be reckless. He had nearly gotten Sam killed by a striga when he wasn’t much younger than Sam. He would need to have a talk with his little brother the next evening about keeping it zipped.

Sam threw an arm around Dean’s waist and said goodnight, then followed Mrs Hernandez out the door.

Dean locked the door behind his brother and leaned against the wall. He was kind of lightheaded and wished he could go to sleep for a few hours.

Instead he cleaned up Sam’s dishes and the pot and gave the cracked linoleum floor a mop. 

A marine always keeps his quarters and his boots polished.

He had the germ of a plan.

The pharmacy on the corner was open until seven.

The Salvation Army soup kitchen opened at eight. It was a twenty block walk.

Ten blocks back to the bus station and the tight hidden alley that he had scouted yesterday when the hunger was getting harder to ignore. Bus stations were always good spots.

Dean wrote a note for Dad and left it on the counter. 

You never know, the man might show up. He explained where Sam was and how to get to the museum, how Sam had holy water, salt and his knife, how he was sorry there was no food in the apartment and that he had gone to get some.

Dean pulled his almost empty duffel out from under the bed. He changed into his working clothes. He had a white shirt that was a tight fit for him now and the top buttons were missing. He had the grey goodwill hoodie that Sam refused to wear because it had the wrong soccer team logo on it. It wouldn’t meet in the middle and was glued to his arms but it looked right. He used some of the hair gel that Dad had left behind to spike up his hair, which was overdue a trip to the barbers. The jeans he had on were fine, tight with a rip above the knee. He removed his underwear and put the jeans back on. He had no choice of footwear. He laced up his boots and was ready to go.

In Charleston a man had offered him $250 for the whole night. He had refused. He had to get back to Sammy and he had never let.... 

Tonight Sam was safe and $250 would set them up for weeks, if Dad failed to show.

If he got three clients (Cherry in Houston had told him to call them clients, he couldn’t call them John) at $25 a blow, then he could do a big grocery shop at the late night Wal-Mart and have a greasy slap up meal at the all night diner. If he let one client spank him and call him baby boy, he might get $100.

Cherry had taken care of him in Houston. She was eighteen, she said. She wanted to know what such a cute thirteen year old was doing on the streets. It was February so he wasn’t still fourteen, for fucksake, he was fifteen, two years older than she thought and he wasn’t on the streets. He had a motel room and a hungry brother. For one week he had worked the corner of 3rd and Brooker with Cherry, two hours per night after Sammy fell asleep. He supposed that Cherry had pimped for him, but she had her own handler. Cherry made sure her pimp never saw Dean. She seemed scared of the man. It was good with Cherry. She laid down the rules. Mouth only and the clients obeyed. Dean kept $15 dollars each time and gave Cherry $10. She gave Dean half her fries. She gave Dean half her joints. She gave Dean the best hand job in history, as she laughed at his small teenage dick, and Dean cringed in humiliation as he came hard against a parking meter. He regretted not being able to say goodbye to Cherry as Dad swept back into the city and bundled them off to Louisiana.

In the pharmacy he struck gold. He could get eyeliner and a lip gloss for a $3.50 deal. Dark green eyeliner (Cherry’s recommendation) and clear gloss. He bought a fifty cent pack of mints at the counter, his last dime to ensure his breath was fresh for each client. 

The middle-aged portly man at the counter looked over his head at the next customer. Dean cleared his throat.

“You need something else, son?”

“I need a pack of the free condoms.” God bless Chicago.

“What age are you boy?” Concern not anger. Dean could work with that.

“Sixteen. Thought there was no age restriction.”

The man passed him the slim white cellophane box of ten condoms, “You don’t look more than fourteen. You sure I can’t call someone for you. A family member?”

Dean was out the door before the man could think of any other help he might try.

On the walk to the Salvation Army, Dean indulged in six mints, one every three blocks. By the time he reached the soup kitchen his breath was awesome and his stomach doing rumble sound checks. The doors were open and the queue moving slowly. The guy in front of him stank of urine and beer. He had cooties in his hair. Dean tried to keep a step between them. 

Behind him an old woman dressed in a goodwill store of coats limped along. She looked at Dean’s half open shirt and tiny hoodie.

“Hey Sonny-Jim, you wanna coat?”

“That’s very kind of you Ma’m. But I’m good.”

“OK, you just reminded me of my daughter, is all. She was all blond lashes and pretty lips.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. The woman was batshit crazy, one minute he was Sonny-Jim, the next she thought he was a girl. He didn’t even have his face made up yet.

They got into the kitchen and the smell of stew and bread made Dean’s knees go weak.

He took a tray and his eyes drank in the steaming bowl of stew, the square bread roll and the slice of goddamned apple pie that were added as he made his way down the line. 

He found an empty spot at the end of a table and got a cup of water. 

Dean didn’t register any of the other diners. He was focused on his food. Closing his eyes in pleasure as the warm stew filled his stomach. Screw Sam and his multinational feast, the Salvation Army could cook! 

As he ate the last two bites of his pie he leaned back satisfied. He took a moment to admire the scenery. Most of the diners were down on their luck, on the tramp side of homeless. There was a table with two women and a number of kids. They all looked clean but anxious. The only other people who looked different were two guys in their late teens in leather jackets near the exit. As Dean took a better look at them he saw a tall brown haired man in an expensive suit approach the guys. One of the volunteers moved to intercept him, but the suit just jerked a thumb at the door and the two teenagers followed him out. Dean wondered if they were trade, or maybe the kids were delinquents who had been taking advantage of the charity.

Putting his tray on the rack provided, Dean got bible-thumped. Always a risk with the Salvos. 

“Have you found Jesus?”

Don’t say is he on a taco, don’t say is he on a taco. 

“Ahem, he..." Don’t say is Jesus missing? Don’t say is he missing?

“The Lord forgives all sins. Mary Magdalene is our guide here at the centre.”

“OK, look I gotta go. Thanks for the food and all. It was great.”

The man put a hand on Dean’s arm.

“We are not just a soup kitchen, son. We have a safe hostel, back to education programs, stay clean meetings...”

“Hey man. I’m not on drugs.” Dean shook off the hand. This was why the Salvos were the last resort. Fucking interfering God Whollapers. 

“Alright, son, when you are ready we are here. If you are not ready to receive the Lord into your heart. Pray to your guardian angel, he will watch over you.”

It took all of Dean’s restraint not to stab the man with his concealed knife. What the fuck? Angels. Where were the angels his Mom had prayed to when she was burned alive on the ceiling? Where were the angels now?

He escaped into the restroom. His hand shook with temper as he used the urinal. As he tucked himself back into his jeans he got himself back under control.

Okay time to go to work. 

Dean made a clean firm sweep of eyeliner on his lower lids and then carefully traced the line on his upper ones. He blinked. His eyes did look bigger. A quick squirt of gloss and he was ready.

Ten blocks to the bus station. Dean relaxed into the walk. His stomach was full and his mood lightened.

A large black sedan with darkened windows drew up alongside and matched Dean’s pace.

Huh? Dean didn’t think he was in a red light area but he was dressed the part and must have drawn a client. Well, this might save a walk. Maybe the John, the client, would drop him at the bus station after.

Dean made his way to the driver’s door as the window glided down, electronic action.

There was a big guy with a broken nose, squashed face, forties, asking Dean how much. The dude was Fugly with a capital F, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“$25 to blow or a hand job, $40 for both, extra for any kinky stuff.” Dean tried to sound confident and not desperate.

“How much to bareback?”

“Sorry man,” Dean pulled back from the window. “I don’t. Find another guy.”

He took another step back and landed against a hard muscled body. Arms came around his upper ones pinning him. To scream or not to scream?

“Hey sweetheart. Don’t panic now. I’m going to take care of you. OK Pretty?”

“What? No. I don’t need to be taken care of. Just let me go.” If he could get to his knife, he could jam it into the man’s thigh and run.

“Now now, shush, what is a baby like you doing trying to run your own gig on my patch?” The man spun Dean around but kept a tight hold on him as he pushed him out to arms length and examined his clothes and face. The driver got out of the car and pressed up against Dean’s back, sandwiching him between them. It was the guy in the suit from the soup kitchen. He was taller than Dean recalled, almost as tall as Dad. He had a straight nose and blue piercing eyes. There was the thin white line of a scar bisecting his right eyebrow. His dark black/brown hair had an expensive cut with a few stray bangs at the side.

“I’m sorry,” Dean wasn’t but he knew he was in the shit here. “I’ll go. I didn’t know.”

“Naw, baby boy, you don’t have to go. You came to the right place. You just went about it the wrong way. What age are you?”

“Sevent...” Dean began. There was a crack and blossoming pain. The man had slapped him across the cheek.

“I’m sorry Pretty, but I don’t condone lying. Let’s start again. What age are you?”

“Fifteen.” Dean lowered his head.

The man put two fingers under Dean’s chin and lifted his face back up.

“Look at me” an order with menace. 

Dean nodded the little amount he could with the fingers still there. He understood orders. “Yes sir.”

Maybe if he played along. Let them threaten him, rough him up a little, they would throw him into a dumpster or something and he could  
make his way home.

“Good boy. Now come along.” The man was pulling him towards the car. Big guy was pushing. No. He was not getting in the car. He was not ending up with bullet in his head. He struggled, kicking out, but it was useless. Big guy caught his legs and the man had him under the shoulders, and he was in the back seat before you could blink.

Dean slid across the seat and tried the opposite door. It was locked. Dean bundled himself up by the window, keeping his knees up. The man was sitting calmly beside him. Ignoring Dean he pulled out his cell phone and when his call was answered, the man just said, “One to book in. I want Cahill to stay and get Sylvester and Chico at the door.”

When the man had his phone back in his pocket he turned to Dean.

“Open your mouth.”

“Where are we going?” Dean asked.

“Open your mouth Pretty.”

“You want me to blow you for free? Can I go if I do it?”

“Open your mouth.” The man repeated patiently.

Dean sighed and seeing no other way out of it, dropped his jaw. The man moved across and pulled out a pen flashlight.

Dean went to close his mouth but the man held it open with one hand and peered in with the light.

“You have real nice teeth, Pretty, and no signs of thrush or sores.” The man patted his knee and sat back.

“My name is De...”

“Pretty.” The man interrupted.

“No.” Dean was starting to think the guy was a sandwich short of a picnic. “My name...”

The man held up a hand to stop Dean from speaking, “I don’t care if your name is Bill Fucking Clinton, Pretty. You get me?”

“Yeah.” Dean muttered.

“What did you say?” The grip on his kneecap hardened and the man’s fingertips dug under the cartilage.

“Yes sir.” Dean flushed. He had had freaks who wanted to call him baby boy, or son, or some guy’s name, but being called Pretty was fucking embarrassing. 

“Good boy. You and I are going to get along just fine. Now, Pretty, you said you don’t bareback? Have you ever? Don’t lie to me.”

“No, sir. I’ve never done it, even with a rubber. I blow or get blown, or I give a hand, or sometimes I get spanked.”

“You never had a John go further than you agreed? Never had a John take more than you offered. Remember Pretty, no lies.”

Dean squirmed. He didn’t like to think of Fort Worth.

“Come on now. You can tell me. I have heard everything. I mean everything. You ever tell anyone else? Your pimp?”

“No. Don’t usually have a pimp. I move around a lot.” Why was he telling this creep? 

The man increased the pressure on his knee.

“Once only. My second time, I was thirteen. I blew a guy. Motel clerk, so we could stay another night when our paid stay had ended. I thought ‘cause it wasn’t on the street like my first time, it would be safer, stupid kid I guess. He had a ruler and gave me a few stripes, nothing I couldn’t handle, you know?” God it did feel good to finally tell this to someone else. 

The man nodded and started to run his hand up and down Dean’s shin.

“So I thought I was finished and he pushed me down on the carpet, hard, pressing my face into the pile. My pants were down, for the ruler, you know?”

The man nodded again and moved a little closer.

“So the guy gets some office supplies off the desk. He laughed as he stapled into my ass cheeks.” Dean blushed as he relived the shame and the job he had removing them in the bathroom after.

“You are cute when you blush, Pretty. Go on sweetheart, what happened?”

Dean caught a traitorous tear rolling down his cheek. Dean Winchester, you will not cry like a fucking baby in front of this pervert.  
“He had a sharpie. He wrote things on my back and my bottom....”

“Go on, darling, what things?”

“Awful things. I couldn’t remove my shirt in front of my family for weeks. It was the middle of the summer. I couldn’t swim with my little brother...” Fuck. Dean sucked in a breath. Fuck he had mentioned Sammy. He looked at the man, but he still seemed concerned, worried about Dean. He didn’t seem to have noticed Dean’s panic at mentioning his little brother. “When he had finished writing he spat on my hole. Then he got a pencil and he pushed it in.” Dean looked down.

“Head up, Pretty, remember. Come on now.”

Dean looked back at the man. He didn’t look disgusted, just sad. “He got a second pencil and he pushed them in. It burned when he moved them around and around. I did nothing. I just lay there. I don’t know why I did nothing.”

“Mmm, I do, pet. Did he do anything else?”

“The bell rang. He left to go see to the desk and I... I pulled out the pencils and I ran. I thought he would come to the room. I stayed awake all night, but he never came.” Fuck he was a cry baby. The man pulled him over onto his lap, and Dean was so out of it that he didn’t fight him.

The man was stroking his hair and whispering in his ear what a good boy he was. Dean found his hand fisting into the man’s jacket. He smelled nice. Like expensive aftershave. 

The car stopped in front of what looked like a block of apartments. The man carried Dean out. “Put your arms around my neck Pretty. I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”

The man kept stroking Dean’s hair and Dean wrapped his arms around his neck. 

Why was he doing as the man said? Fuck. Maybe he was a monster or a man-witch. Had he put Dean into a trance? Maybe he had hypnotised him, with the look into my eyes stuff.

Dean shifted a little, uncomfortable now that he had thought of unnatural forces at work. He looked at the man and said “Christo.”

The man chuckled as they walked towards two huge bouncer types in the lobby. “You religious, pet? Found you at the Salvation Army after all?”

“No sir.”

“Good. I can’t abide all the guilt and praying and gnashing of teeth. So Pretty, this is Chico and this is Sylvester.” The man pointed at the two gorillas. Dean couldn’t tell them apart. “Guys, this is Pretty. He is coming upstairs with me. I’m going to take care of him.”  
He rubbed circles on Dean’s back, like Dean did for Sammy when he was sick, but no one ever did for Dean. He knew now why Sammy liked it so much.

Gorilla One got in the elevator with them. Dean turned his head into the man’s shoulder. He wondered how to convince the man to let him go home when he was done with him. He had to be back by the time Sammy was out of school.

“So Pretty,” the man talked into the top of his head, “this is my block. The top floor is my space. The lower four floors all have six small but comfortable apartments. Each of my whores has their own apartment.”

Dean stiffened at the word whore, and worried he was about to be dumped into a unit and have the door locked behind him.  
The elevator stopped and they exited into a short outer hall facing double doors.

“Calm down darling.” The man began to rub circles again. “Here we are at my home.”

Dean let out a breath. He wasn’t being imprisoned in an apartment to service clients.

“Here Chico, open the door.” The man passed the gorilla set of keys.

When they were through the entrance, Dean could see a big open space like something on 90210. There was a huge wrap around leather sofa in the centre with a guy in scrubs sitting on it watching Roseanne on the largest TV he had ever seen.

“Hello Mr Goodman, sir. Is this the new sub you want me to examine?”

Dean almost giggled that the creep was called Good-man, but then the other words sank in.

“What the fuck?” Dean leaped out of Goodman’s hold and moved for the door but Chico was there. He was crushed to the floor in one move and he flailed against the gorilla as he heard the man berate the doctor for his lack of discretion and the fear filled apology in response.

Then Goodman was kneeling by Dean’s head. “Calm down, sweetheart, I’m sorry you were frightened by Dr Cahill. It’s all good now.” He smoothed the back of his hand over Dean’s forehead, distracting Dean from noticing the doctor approaching his other side.

Dean felt the prick of a needle and his eyes grew heavy. 

“Sleep, my Pretty” he heard as he was pulled under.


	2. Back in Chicago

John Winchester was pissed. He wanted Dean home now so he could whip some sense into his dumb son’s ass. What was he thinking letting Sam go off with some school group? Leaving a note for his father. A freaking note. 

John had driven through the night, pushing the Impala to her limits. As he drove his rage grew. The second black dog had turned out to be a fucking mutt that was black and big and mean and need a dog catcher not a Winchester. 

He had been kept away from his sons. He knew they must have run out of money by now and hoped Dean had rung Pastor Jim, or at least made sure Sammy was fed. 

He decided as he reached the city limits that he would take Dean out for a real Chicago pizza to make it up to him. He would tell Dean all the details of the hunts and watch his teenager’s eyes light up at the success of the first case. He would promise to take Dean with him on the next hunt.

He wouldn’t tell Dean about the black dog’s owner who had smelled John’s neck after John had pinned him down in the shallow waters of the Spokane River. The strange creature had pulled back sneering as he identified him as Sam Winchester’s father and congratulated him on being chosen. John had been about to torture the freak for information, when he up and vanished into thin air, leaving John drenched and his cell phone floating down river. That set the mood for the rest of the week. 

Now he was home and Sam was out at night with a group of clueless civilians. 

There was no sign of Dean. Buying groceries had better not be a code for fooling around with a high school slut. Dean continued to surprise him with his recklessness and irresponsibility. It was Dean’s job to watch Sammy. He had caught him sneaking back into the hotel room in Houston high on pot and using some chick called Cherry as an excuse. He thought he had beaten this tendency to leave Sam on his own out of his eldest years ago. 

John paced back and forth for another ten minutes. Then he looked in the cupboard. Only one can, maybe Dean was gone for food.

An hour later, John was just about ready to spit fire. 

He grabbed his jacket and keys and headed back to the impala. He parked in the disabled spot next to the yellow school bus at the museum. There was a fire exit open a crack with two kids who couldn’t be more than nine sharing a cigarette against the wall. His boiling blood went up a notch. What kind of school trip was this? Did they not want their kids safe from all the ordinary dangers?

John walked around the kids and through the fire door. They didn’t as much as look his way. If he had been a vampire, he could have drained them both and no one would ever know.

Keeping to the shadows, John made his way down the parquet floored hall with its vaulted ceiling towards the sound of kids singing in Spanish.

As he came into the main hall he could see sleeping bags spread out under exhibits and a group of kids gorging themselves on slices of wobbly multicoloured cake. Sam was sitting on top of a set of drawers, reciting the periodic table at the top of his voice, as two nerdy looking kids stared at him in awe. John smiled. He couldn’t help it. He felt all the rage drain out of him. How did Sam do this to him? One look of his puppy dog eyes made disciplining the boy so much harder. One beaming smile with dimples and giggles and John’s heart would melt. His sweet little son, who had never known a mother, had John wrapped around his finger, only the kid didn’t know it.

Sam stopped mid-flow and glowed a smile at John. Then he leaped off the drawers, narrowly avoiding the geeky girl admirer, and ran at John full pelt.

“Dad, Dad, you’re home. Where is Dean? Is he in the car? We aren’t leaving now are we? Cos I am on an actual school trip and it is wizard!”

John scooped his youngest up into a hug. “Hey tyke. Were you a good boy for Dean?”

“Yeah Dad. The best. Dean said so. Can I stay here? There's more cake. You could have some.”

“We can stay for cake.” John wasn’t promising any more until he figured out where Dean was. “I was wondering if Dean had come to check on you. He left me a note saying he was going for groceries.”

“Naw Dad. Dean saw me off. Packed my bag and everything, and he met Mrs Hernandez. Is he gone for groceries cos we ran out?” Sam bit his lip, “Sorry Dad, I mean, I know you were coming home, we didn’t mean to run out, and I know you don’t like to be left a note, but I’m sure Dean is at the late night Wal-Mart. That’s where we went on Sunday for stuff.”

“OK Sam. I’m not angry.” He was angry but he was good at hiding it from his youngest, storing it up to let rip at Dean. 

“Sam?” It was a boy with thick black glasses like the bottom of beer bottles. John looked down on him. “Is that your Dad?”

“Yep, my actual Dad. See Henry. I didn’t make him up.” Sam sounded smug.

John cringed a little at other kids not believing he existed. Maybe they would go for pizza.

Then a busty dark haired woman in a floral mu-mu was in his face, or more precisely under his chin, “I am Maria Estefan Hernandez, and I want a word with you Mr Winchester about leaving your teenage son in charge of a ten year old. Do you know that Dean has not been to school? I do, because we live in your block and Henry tells me that Dean cooks all of Sam’s meals.”

John took a step back. Forget the pizza. As soon as he found Dean, they were leaving Chicago. John gave the fiendish woman his best smile. Her frown only deepened. 

“Mrs Hernandez. Sam talks a lot about Henry. He clearly has formed a bond with your son.” He could see the woman relax just a tad. “I was called away for work unexpectedly, and have been working a lot of extra hours recently. You are right that Dean has been shouldering a lot of the responsibility for Sammy here. I was unaware that Dean was skipping school. Thank you for taking trouble with my boys.”

“Oh Mr Winchester they are no trouble. Not at all. I was only saying to Julio earlier, that I wish my eldest was more like your Dean. You couldn’t leave my younger ones with her, a true teen handful, God bless her.”

John knew the immediate danger of CPS had been averted. He nodded and smiled at the interfering bitch. 

“Well Mrs Hernandez, I just came to check in on Sam. I can see you are all having a fine time, so I will leave you to it.”

“You’re not staying for cake Dad? It is actual Polish cake.”

“No Sam. I’m going to go to the 7 Eleven with Dean. Get something good for you after school tomorrow.” John knew Sam would read between the lines and be ready to leave when John returned or after school the next day.

“Wal-Mart, Dad.”

“What Sam?” John asked as he prepared to go.

“Dean doesn’t like the 7 eleven, we go to Wal-Mart.” Sam said pointedly.

“Thanks son. Go back to your gang.”

“Ha ha Dad, I don’t have a gang, we are a group, like the gases on the actual periodic table.”

He was going to have to break Sam of this habit of saying ‘actual’ or he might just strangle his youngest on cross country road trips.  
Sam waved from his perch on the set of drawers as he left.

John went back to the dump of an apartment. Dean hadn’t returned. The hair he had placed across the door was intact.

When he arrived at Wal-Mart he nearly had a coronary. The place was swarming with cops and cordoned off with yellow tape. He pulled out his FBI badge and approached a cop, whose skin was so dark he was blending into the night.

“Hey officer. I’m off duty. What happened here?” John tried to sound causal as he flicked his badge.

“FBI? Haven’t seen you before. Nothing special. Two punks held up the store. Drug addicts. Stabbed a cashier with a needle. The poor sister was hysterical when they took her away in the bus. Forensics is nearly done. Store will most likely be open in an hour.”

“You didn’t see a kid did you? Fifteen, about 5’ 6”, Caucasian, slim, green eyes.”

“No man, no kids. He a person of interest?”

“No. Just looking out for the son of a friend of mine. He didn’t come home from school today.”

“Cool. It is only ten. The kid is probably over at a friend’s place.”

“Yeah, kids who’d have ‘em.” John ground out a fake laugh to join the cop’s guffaw.

John tried every 7 Eleven and dime store that was still open on his way back to the apartment. 

Still Dean wasn’t back. 

He cruised the streets until dawn. He had been propositioned by rent boys and prostitutes, been offered all kinds of drugs, and a camel. 

Finally he admitted defeat and grabbed some supplies at the just opened corner store.

If Dean was back he was going to wish he had stayed away.

Dean was not back.

If Dean had slept over at some girl’s place, he would tan his son’s hide with the strap and his belt so that he had to sit sideways in the back of the impala for a month.

He left the deadbolt off the door and dropped into a long overdue sleep on the ratty sofa, his fingers trailing over the shotgun on the floor.

He woke to the sound of the door being pushed opened. He was up, brandishing the gun, and roaring “Dean” before the door was fully back.

Sam stumbled into the apartment, looking at his father as if he was a rabid Rottweiler.

“Dad? Where is Dean?”

John looked around the apartment. He brushed past Sam and checked the bedroom and the bathroom. Dean was not there. He hadn’t come back.

“Sam. What time is it?”

“Twenty after four. After school. Where’s Dean?” Sam was pulling open the cupboard. “Look Dad there is bread and peanut butter and beer.... beer, you bought these. Where is Dean?”

John pulled Sam over to the sofa and sat him down. “I don’t know Sam. I looked for him all night. Who are Dean’s friends here? Can you call them?”

“Dad, Dean doesn’t have any friends. He is always here when I come home from school. Always Dad. Something happened to him. I know it.”

John knew it too. This was too much. Something had happened to Dean. He hadn’t tried ERs and police stations last night; he hadn’t wanted to go that far. He could also try the local stores; they might have seen Dean yesterday.

“Okay, Sammy. I am going to ask you to go to Mrs Hernandez.”

“No Dad. I want to look for Dean with you.”

“You listen to me, Sam. You will get in the way. I don’t need to be asked why I am dragging a snot nosed kid with me as I am searching hospitals and cop stations.”

Sam’s eyes were like discs, shimmering with unshed tears, but he swallowed and said, “Yes sir.”

John practically dragged Sam down to the Hernandez and left him to explain why he was being deposited with the family. 

He paused to set another hair on the apartment door and to phone Jim Murphy. 

No. Jim had not heard from Dean. Jim gave John a piece of his mind about leaving the boys alone, when Jim was less than a day’s drive away, until John hung up on him.

The next three hours were spent in hospitals and cop stations. Thankfully Dean did not register at any of them. In the last station, the desk clerk asked if he wanted to file a missing person’s report. It had been more than 24 hours and Dean was a minor. John refused for now. No need to draw CPS on them if he could find Dean himself.

He stopped at the apartment again. No sign of Dean.

Dean had gone to get food. But did he have money? Probably not, John admitted to himself. He pulled out a yellow pages and found local soup kitchens and homeless shelters. If Dean had run out of food earlier in the week, he might have tried a charity.

At the second stop, Salvation Army, a homeless guy remembered Dean. 

“I am looking for a teen,” John showed the man the photo he had been using all day, “Could have been here yesterday?”

“I saw him. At least I think that was him. Came in soon after doors opened. Ate everything on his plate. Looked different though.”

John sighed with relief. Dean had been here, last night; hours after Sam had last seen him.

“How did he look different?”

“Thinner and he was dressed for work, you know.”

Dean had gotten a job? John asked the tramp, “Did you recognise the uniform? It would help if I knew where he worked.”

The man laughed, a bitter laugh and shook his head at John

“Man, you are a thick fuck. Dressed, you know, as a twink.”

John didn’t hear that. 

He didn’t hear it. 

The tramp had not called Dean that word.

He continued to look at the guy who assumed John was ignorant.

“A twink, man are you dumb or what, a rent boy, prostitute, whore...”

John’s fist smashed into the guy’s nose giving a satisfying crunching noise.

“Fucker! Broke my nose!” the man screamed through the blood on his face. 

Two beefy Salvos made for John but he was up and out of the soup kitchen before they laid a hand on him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dean woke up. His head was fully of fuzzy softness. He was in bed and it was warm and soft and silky. It was a nice bed.  
He opened his eyes. 

The room had dark walls but the sheets were cream, creamy yummy cream. There was a nice creamy chair, and creamy blinds shining in the sun. 

His hands were warm. 

The comforter was cream and the sheets. He pulled his hands out from under the covers. He was wearing brown corduroy mittens, like kids mittens in the winter, when they are small. How weird. He moved his hand in front of his face and the mitten left a trail of brown colour in the air. More weird. His thumbs were there but his fingers had disappeared. Weird. He’d like the mittens off now. His hands were too warm. The mittens ended in lace up leather cuffs on his wrists. He needed fingers to undo them. Freaking awesome.

He moved to sit up and something poked him in the ass. Fuck. What was that? He blinked to try and clear his head. 

The door to the bedroom opened and the man from last night came in.

“Hello Pretty. How is my sweetheart today?”

Dean opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on, but no sound came out. He panicked. This wasn’t like the last time when he hadn’t wanted to talk for two years. He couldn’t talk.

The man was on the side of the bed, pushing his arms down onto the covers and asking him to look at him. Dean tried to focus but his eyes were hard to control.

“Now darling, you just calm yourself. You were such a good boy for the doctor. But we were concerned for you. You could wake up and hurt your throat from screams because you wouldn’t know where you were. Did that happen to you pet?”

Dean was confused. He didn’t know where he was. But he hadn’t tried to scream, he wasn’t a baby. 

He looked at the man and he seemed to shimmer, maybe he was a ghost. He should have salt and his knife. He couldn’t feel his knife strapped to his leg. He looked down where the knife should be.

The man sighed. “Pretty?”

Dean looked up.

“Look at me.”

Dean tried to keep looking but the candy floss in his head made it hard.

“Good boy.”

He was. He was a good boy. The man had called him a good boy last night too. He had been nice. He had held Dean in the car. Dean glanced at the mittens and looked back to the man.

“So Pretty. I think you are still a little woozy from the anaesthetic, so I’m going to give you a little pill from your bottle and a drink of water, and let you sleep again. Will you be a good boy and take your pill for me?”

Dean nodded. He was a good boy. He must be sick. There was a doctor and now pills. Maybe this was a hospital or a clinic.

The man held a pill to Dean’s mouth. He opened and the man put it on his tongue. Then he held a glass of water to Dean’s lips and helped him to drink half of the glass. Once he had put the glass back on the bedside table, he sat up on the bed and pulled Dean across his lap so that Dean’s back was resting against the man’s chest. He started to silently stroke Dean’s hair while he held him across the chest with his other arm. It was nice. Dean hoped Sam was OK. He must be at school now. Maybe Dean would be better when he woke up and he could collect Sammy from school.

The next time Dean woke it was raining. The man was sitting in the cream chair looking at him. He smiled. Dean smiled back. He didn’t know why he did, shouldn’t he be afraid of the man?

“Hello lazy bones.” The man laughed.

Dean’s head felt clearer this time. He wasn’t lazy. He opened his mouth to tell him that he wasn’t lazy but he had no voice.

“Shush,” the man came over and sat on the bed. He pulled Dean’s mittened left hand out from under the covers and held it in both of his. 

Dean stared at the mittens.

“Pretty, you feeling better. Your mind clearer now?”

Dean nodded and mouthed why at the mittens.

“Shush, sweetheart. You must be hungry. I’ll get you something and then we’ll talk.” The man got up and left the room.

Dean wanted to know what the fuck was going on now. The light was different. It must be later. Was Sam still at school? He had to get up. He had to get out of here. 

He swung his legs out of the bed and pulled back the covers. He was wearing a belt and something strange. He looked down at the leather belt attached to another belt covering his navel and dividing to go around his junk, and then it continued trapping the thing that was poking him in the ass and back up to join the back of the belt. How was he meant to take a dump with that in him? How was he meant to take a whizz with the fucking mittens?

“Where are you going?”

The man sounded annoyed. Dean looked up at him. Look him in the eyes.

“Come on, Pretty, back into bed.”

The thing was now that he had thought about taking a piss, he really needed to. He looked at his junk and at the glass of water. Gosh, he never thought that two years of non-verbal communication would come in handy years later.

“I see, pet. Come on so.”

Dean walked over to the man. It was very weird. The thing inside him moved and was uncomfortable and the belt rubbed the sides of his balls. He took little steps. That helped.

The man guided him to a door hidden from his position in the bed. It was a fucking stellar bathroom. Dean had never seen anything like it.  
There was a walk-in shower, a huge tub and a big porcelain sink, a bidet (Dean had thought they were a myth) and a loo. The whole room was tiled in cream.

“You like the room. I’m glad. It is your bathroom. I have my own.” The man guided him over to the toilet.

Dean didn’t need a bathroom. He was going home before Sam got out of school.

“OK Pretty, You can sit on the bowl or I’ll guide you.”

Dean was not sitting on the bowl like a girl. Thank you. Oh. That meant...

The man’s hand took Dean’s dick and clinically aimed it into the bowl. “Come on, Pretty, think of waterfalls.”

His bladder seemed to respond to waterfalls and emptied itself. The man gave his dick a final shake and pulled a wet wipe out of a container on the cistern lid. He gently cleaned the head and put the wipe in the garbage bin, while Dean watched, stunned at not being allowed to do this himself.

“Do you need to use the toilet?”

Dean could have laughed. You have to eat to shit. He shook his head.

“My good boy. Let’s eat darling.” The man wrapped an arm around his shoulders and they walked back to the bedroom. Beyond the bed the room was L-shaped, when they walked around the corner there was a low white leather couch and a lower coffee table by another window. Dean could see rain splashes through the cream blinds.

“Sit down, Pretty.”

There was a tray with two bowls of tomato soup and some saltine crackers. Dean looked at the food and at the man. He wasn’t sure if he should take a bowl.

The man pulled out a white linen napkin and laid it across Dean’s bare lap. Then he gave him a bowl and a spoon. It felt weird to hold the spoon with his mitten, but the soup was good. Homemade with some herbs in it. It was warm, not too hot, and tasted of summer. Dean closed his eyes as the warm liquid slid down to his tight stomach.

“Good boy.” 

Dean’s eyes shot open.

The man was holding his own soup bowl and took a small sip from his spoon.

“The doctor advised light easily digestible foods. He said you hadn’t eaten much for some time. He was worried about your vitamin deficiencies and low body fat. He took some bloods.” Dean looked at the yellowing bruises in the crook of his elbow. 

“Once we have the results, a dietician will come up with a menu plan for you. Eat up, sweetheart, it is better while it is warm.”

Dean wanted to tell the man he wouldn’t be there for the diet plan, but the soup was good and his voice wasn’t working.

After a few more spoons of soup the man lifted a cracker and passed it to Dean, who nibbled at it.

“Full?”

Dean nodded.

“OK, you ate more than half. That was a good effort, I’m proud of you Pretty.”

The man was insane. Who is proud of someone for eating soup? Still his heart had done a little flip at being told the man was proud of him.

“Come over to my side of the sofa, pet, and I’ll explain more about the doctor and your rehabilitation program.”

My what? The fucker was looney-toons. Better to know what his plan was. He was going to have to escape. It looked like the bastard wasn’t going to let him leave. He wondered if he could reach a fire escape from the window, as he moved closer.

“Lean your head on my shoulder.” 

Dean did as he was told and waited.

“Now darling, you are very special to me. When I saw you in the soup kitchen I could see your innocence and your beauty. You are too good for the life you were ready to throw yourself into.”

Dean shifted uncomfortable from the thing in his butt and the skewed view the man had of him. He wasn’t innocent, he hadn’t been innocent since he was four years old. A hand moved around his right side stroking his left shoulder and holding him in place. The man’s left hand took Dean’s left mitten and squeezed his hand.

“I sent my two whores to their regular corner and I waited for you. As soon as we talked on the street, I knew I had to bring you home with me. When you were such a good boy in the car and so willing to tell me about the terrible motel clerk, I knew you were mine to save. Dr Cahill confirmed all you had told me was true and he was very angry about your malnutrition and your old strapping scars. He made me promise to help you. But he needn’t have asked Pretty. I will always help you. So Dr Cahill gave you a cortisone based injection in your vocal cords. It will wear off in a few days. It is just to give you time to adjust without having to scream, or shout, or get upset.”

Not get upset. He was upset now. The guy was a freak. As soon as he was out of the room, Dean was going out the window or out the door if he wasn’t locked in.

“We found your knife when we undressed you. You are a clever boy, wanting something to protect yourself on the street. You gave Chico a few good kicks too. So you need to learn that you don’t need violence here. I will not use violence on you, my darling. I don’t want you to hurt any of my employees and I don’t want you to hurt yourself. Until I know you won’t try, we will keep the mittens on. Have you ever seen mittens like these Pretty?”

Dean moved his head in the negative. He was reluctantly fascinated by the man’s words. He made it sound like everything he was doing was to help Dean, to save him from something. He needed to focus on ways to escape.

“They are self-harm prevention mittens. Dr Cahill has given you a diagnosis of ADHD with a self harm risk. I know you don’t want to hurt yourself, sweetheart. You have been prescribed some mild sedatives and sleeping meds to help you with your stress. We can get these refilled at the local pharmacy for you.” The man handed him a bottle. There was a childproof cap, so no way Dean was going to be able to open it with the freaking mittens. The medications were for Prêt Goodman. The man could see Dean looking at the name.

“Hum Ha. You have rumbled me. That’s your new name. Pretty Goodman. Prêt, rhyme it with wet, was the closest given name I could get to your real name. I’m Walter Goodman. You can call me sir until we settle into our routine. Now I can see you are wondering about the belt. It is for your protection Pretty. I can’t be with you all the time, sometimes my employees will take care of you, and while I trust them, I don’t trust them to be able to resist temptation. The anal plug is very thin. It won’t stretch or damage you, just close you off for me. We’ll get your meals and evacuations into a nice steady rhythm but until then you need to let me know if you feel the need for the toilet?”

Dean nodded again, but seriously, if Sir thought that he was going to put up with this when he got his voice back, he was sorely mistaken.

Sir pulled his head around so he could look in his eyes. “Your name is Pretty and you are mine. I will take care of you and work with you through your program. You will respect me and be honest with me. You will never lie to me or conceal a truth from me. I will make you happy and cherish you, sweetheart. You already make me happy just by being here and being such a good boy.”

Dean felt tired now. He wouldn’t mind a nap. Maybe when he woke up Sir would be gone and he could explore the apartment for escape routes. He could be back to Sammy by nightfall. He let his eyes droop. Sir noticed and picked him up and carried him to the bed.

He felt a pill being pressed against his lips and opened up for it. Then his head was tilted for the water. He lay back drowsy and warm. Sir pressed a kiss to his forehead and left him alone.


	3. To lose one son is careless...

It was Monday. God damn Monday. There was still no sign of Dean. John had caved on Sunday and filled a missing person report. 

He had been called to Sam’s school and he paced in front of the headmistress’s office, scoring the green threadbare carpet with his boots. 

He didn’t need to be here. He needed to be looking for Dean.

He had rung Caleb and Jim on Saturday. They were on their way. By this morning he had called Bobby fucking Singer, Bill Harvelle, Gordon Walker and Daniel Elkins. He had left messages for Jefferson, Tim, Reggie and Steve Wandell. He had every hunter in the country on alert for Dean. 

If a demon had taken him....

If that boy had gone to a party and gotten trashed, and showed up today, God help him....

The petite blond headmistress came in from the hall and shook John’s hand briskly.

“Mr Winchester, if you could follow me.”

“Look Mrs..... Headmistress, I don’t know what Sam has done but we have a family crisis...”

“Mr Winchester. Sam is downtown at Child Protective Services.”

“What?” John roared.

“No need to raise your voice to me, Mr Winchester. Two officers showed up this morning looking to speak with your son about his missing older brother. They inform me he is 15 and not in school.”

“Yes. Get on with it.”

“Rudeness never got anyone anything, Mr Winchester. I attempted to call your emergency number but your line was busy. Sam was willing to talk to the officers about his brother. Our Home Rule teacher remained in the room with him. They asked in detail about your older son’s routine. During the interview it became clear that your boys have been living alone and that Dean is Sam’s sole caregiver. The officers asked me to keep Sam in the office until they could get a social worker appointed to his case. Officer Kovac told me privately that Dean was selling himself on the street to feed Sam.”

John gulped. It hadn’t been bluntly flung in his face until now.

“I am following education board guidelines by informing you of this at the earliest opportunity. Please leave my office and my school, Mr Winchester.”

The woman opened the door and ushered the hunter out.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

It rained all day on Tuesday. Pastor Jim Murphy had turned up and spent the day canvassing churches, temples and mosques. John spent his day at CPS pleading, cajoling and filling out infinite forms in order to be able to see Sam.

He met Jim back at the apartment having secured an appointment for supervised visit to Sam at 5pm the following day.

Jim had a bottle of Jack Daniels open on the counter.

“I found someone who saw him at the Salvation Army kitchen.”

“Thanks Jim. I found that tramp too.”

“Not a homeless person. I found a volunteer. He only works Tuesday and Thursday. He spoke with Dean.”

John looked up in hope. Jim passed him a shot of JD.

“Hit me with it, Padre.”

“Dean talked with SA Officer Anderson after he had eaten. Anderson thought Dean was a well mannered boy and tried to dissuade him from going on the street. He offered him a place in their shelter. Dean refused and Anderson saw him coming out of the bathroom a little time later with eyeliner and lipstick on.”

“What is new here?”

“John. God knows this is hard to hear. It is hard to say, but we have evidence now that Dean was heading out on the street. We need to focus on the street workers, they may have seen Dean get in a car, or even know who hired him.”

“He’s dead, Jim, isn’t he? My boy. Some pervert took him and killed him.”

“No John. Stop. Now is not the time for despair. I’m going to the Salvo shelter tomorrow to talk to the street workers who live there. Anderson also included Dean on their Family Tracing Service. You need to tell the cops about this. They can stop treating Dean as a runaway and start looking at known perpetrators.”

John drove his fist into his own thigh. “Five days, Jim, five days and no sign. Anything could have happened to him.”

“Hey John. Tell me about Sam. You got an appointment to see him?”

“Yeah tomorrow at five, with his social worker and his foster parents, the Grogans. He is in Albany Park. The family has one adopted daughter and another boy being fostered. His headmistress pummelled the social worker with Sam’s test scores and he was enrolled in Edison School for Gifted Children this morning. He has a fucking psychiatrist appointment after school tomorrow, so I can’t see him until five.”

“Sounds good.”

John glared at the priest.

“Wait, John. You can’t drag Sam around while you are looking for Dean. Sounds like CPS did a proper job for once. Maybe Sam can stay with the Grogans until you find Dean.”

“Or maybe the Grogans are evil sons of bitches who steal other people’s children, and Sam would be better going back to Blue Earth with you, where you can protect him from the real monsters in the night.”

Jim knew he wasn’t going to win that argument. “John, just wait until you see Sam to decide. You know where he is living, and can take him back at any time.”

John knocked back his shot and slammed the glass on the table.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Wakey, wakey Pretty. Slept all night for me, my darling boy.”

Dean struggled to wake up. All night. That meant it was Saturday. What would Sam have done when he came home and Dean wasn’t there? He hoped that he went to Henry’s mom or rang Pastor Jim. Oh God Sam was alone all night. Dean turned his head away from Sir and used the side of his mitten to wipe away the tears.

“Don’t cry darling. I know it is all very confusing, but we are going to start your routine today, Pretty, settle you in nicely.”

Dean stopped crying. If there was a routine then he could use that to predict what would happen and he would know what was expected of him and how to break free of Walter Goodman. He sat up to attention to show he was ready.

“Good boy. So first we need to see if your voice is coming back. Dr Cahill said it should be back by the sixth day. Say Hello Sir for me.”

What was the point in trying to speak if his voice wouldn’t be back for days yet? But he tried to say Hello. Nothing happened.

“That’s alright, Pretty, we can try again in a few hours.” Sir rubbed his cheek where the tears had been moments ago. It was a soft brush of a soft hand and Dean leaned unconsciously into the touch.

“OK remember the routine. It is very important for your adjustment. I’ll be here with you at the start but later you will do a lot of this on your own or with one of my employees.”

Dean nodded, just go along with the crazy man.

“There will always be a glass of water by your bed. If you are thirsty during the night, remember to leave a little for your morning meds. If I am not here, I will leave the three pills out for you or Gracie will come in and open the bottles for you. There is a multivitamin, an immune-booster and your anti-anxiety pill. Come on now darling and take them all.”

Dean put out his hand. He wasn’t having this putting the pills in his mouth thing continuing. Sir smiled and placed the pills on the mitten. Dean tossed them into his mouth and Sir passed him the glass. He couldn’t bend his thumb enough to hold the glass in one hand so he used both to lift the glass.

“Good boy.” Sir smiled again.

Dean smiled back. It seemed a little thing to respond to Sir’s satisfaction with him.

“Now to the bathroom”

Dean followed Walter and made his way to the bowl.

“Now if I am not here, you’ll need to sit to relieve yourself, but I am here today.”

They went through the same ritual as the previous day, with waterfalls, and the single shake and the wet wipe. It wasn’t as bad the second time, at least Dean knew what was coming next.

“Next is your shower. If I am not here, you will return to your bed and wait for me or someone to help you. Understand Pretty?”  
He nodded.

“Hold up your mittens.”

Dean waited for Walter to start on the laces of the cuffs, but the man produced two plastic bags and tied them over Dean’s hands. He could feel the weight of disappointment dragging him down.

“Now now Pretty, eyes up. Don’t be sad. Wet mittens would be a miserable thing to wear.”  
Dean looked up. 

“Eyes on me now pet.”

Sir worked on the buckle of the belt in the small of Dean’s back. He eased the belt away from where sweat had stuck it to Dean’s skin and coaxed the open section over his cock and balls. Dean shivered as Sir gave his cock a few swipes with the leather as he lifted the strange belt. Little Dean liked that and went semi hard. 

“Eyes up again. Good boy, getting hard for me.”

Dean kept his eyes on Walter as the man pulled on the butt plug. It was uncomfortable, painful as Walter twisted it to force the lip out over his rim. Then it was blessedly out. Dean fell forward against the man and Walter dropped the plug on the tiles, using both hands to hug Dean close.

He pushed Dean into the glass walk in shower cubicle and told him to face the wall. Dean could hear Walter getting undressed and turning on the water. He hummed as he adjusted the settings. Then he pulled Dean around by his shoulders. Sir had a nice body. Better than most of the dirty clients Dean had serviced. Sir had abs, he must work out. He shaved too. His chest and pretty much everywhere. He had a long dick. It rose at Dean’s attention and curved ever so slightly to the left as the head purpled up. Dean licked his lips, expecting to be asked to give a blow job.

“No Pretty. I’ll take care of that in a minute. This is about you. Look up at my eyes.”

Dean had forgotten again. Look Sir in the eyes. Sir didn’t seem angry though.

Sir had a flannel and some spicy shower gel. He worked his way around Dean’s body, down his arms to the plastic covers. Over his chest and down to his sack. He washed Dean there clinically and quickly but Little Dean still twitched in response. As Walter knelt to work his way down Dean’s leg, Dean considered kneeing him in the face, but he was wet and naked and didn’t know where to go. Sir turned him around and worked on his back. Then he disappeared for a minute.

“Kneel down now Pretty. Time to make you all clean for the day.”

Dean knelt.

“All fours sweetheart.”

This wasn’t good. He was about to get fucked. He knew it.

From behind him Sir squeezed some cold lube onto Dean’s hole and worked it in with the tip of his finger. That was alright after wearing the plug, Dean’s rim wasn’t as tight as it could be.

Then there was something slimy and hard but small.

Dean tried to shout out but no sound came out. 

“Calm now, Pretty, it’s just the enema nozzle. I need to push the tube in a way. Still. Stay still, Pretty.”

Dean tried not to shift and squirm but it was just too weird. Sir had the nozzle in now and used one hand to push some of the tube in, while he calmed Dean with long gentle strokes of his hand. He continued to tell Pretty how good he was as the warm water filled Dean up.   
Dean wished he was good like Pretty. He mentally shook himself. Pretty didn’t exist. It was all Walter’s fantasy.

He was very full now. His stomach weighed down and he felt his insides stretching to hold the water.

“Took a full bag, first time. So good. Now you hold on to that and don’t spill a drop. While we wait for the water to do its magic, open up your mouth pet, I’m going to brush your teeth.”

It was bizzaro-land. He had landed in bizzaro-land. 

Filled with water sloshing around his guts, Dean had his teeth brushed and a conditioning treatment rubbed into his hair. Then Walter moved back to examine Dean’s clenching trembling hole. He felt a weight on his ass crack. It was hot and long. Then Walter was using Dean’s crack to jerk off, almost silently with moans and a groan at the end as he came covering Dean’s back with his spunk.

Dean would have pinched himself to wake up if he had fingers to use.

Walter stood him up, “Hold on now Pretty. Just a few steps to the toilet.”

Walter half carried Dean while he tightened his anus as much as he could.

When he sat on the toilet, Walter said “Let go Pretty, Let all that dirty water out.”

Dean sighed with relief and let everything go. It was humiliating. Walter sat on the edge of the tub, ensuring they maintained eye contact as the water, and stuff, and wind, and everything left Dean’s body. His bladder emptied the little it contained and more traitorous tears escaped Dean’s open eyes as he suffered a final wave of cramps.

Once he was done after a last noisy release of wind, Sir lifted him back to the shower and held him close as he washed him and rinsed his hole with the hose. Then he washed Dean’s hair covering his eyes with another flannel as he tilted Dean’s head back to keep the suds from his eyes.

Dean was weak and shaky after the enema and complied with the order to get back on all fours, hoping he wasn’t going to undergo a second one. 

Sir came around the front and showed Dean a new silicone butt plug. “It’s the same girth as the last one, Pretty, but I noticed you were uncomfortable so this is a little shorter. Don’t want you being sore. I’m just going to lube this up and we’ll get your belt back on.”  
Walter was a lunatic, a psycho. Dean wondered if there was a phone in the apartment. If he couldn’t get out, maybe he could call the cops.

The plug hurt. Walter was a liar. It burned as the man settled it inside. Then Walter gave a few experimental thrusts with the plug, and Good Golly Miss Molly, what was that. Pleasure blew through Dean’s body. Again, Sir, Please. It was like Sir could hear the unspoken words because he kept doing that movement with the plug and wrapped his fist around Dean’s hard cock, pumping until Dean came hard and blindingly quick.

“Good boy, my good good boy.” Walter slipped the belt around Dean and buckled him in as he lay boneless in the aftermath. Then he got a couple of wet wipes and cleaned Dean up. He tore the bags off the mittens and smiled down at Dean.

“Come on, Pretty. Once your cleaning is over. It is time for breakfast.”

There was a tray waiting for them on the coffee table. Dean sat while Walter poured them coffees. Big mugs, easy to hold with two hands. 

“Would you like milk, honey, sugar, or jelly on your oatmeal?”

Dean pointed at the milk and the sugar and Walter fixed his oatmeal, then handed Dean a spoon. 

They ate sitting side by side this time. Walter absently stroked Dean’s thigh from time to time.

“There are clothes for you in the closet, Pretty. I have the key. I will show you them later. But for now and unless you have been told otherwise, you stay naked for me. I’m going to open the blinds for you so you get some daylight. The windows are tinted, so don’t worry about people in surrounding buildings seeing you.”

Walter pulled up the long blinds and Dean’s heart sank. There were bars on the outside of the glass. Windows as means of escape? No go.

A buzzer sounded outside the bedroom.

“Hold on a moment, Pretty, we have visitors. Stay on the sofa.”

When Walter left, Dean moved off the seat. He listened for any sign that the man was coming back while he gave the windows a closer look. Not only were the bars too close together to squeeze through the panes were double glazed and had no visible means of opening. 

Hearing voices coming closer, Dean shuffled back to the sofa and returned to where he had been when Walter left.

“Hello Pret. Good to see you awake.” Dr Cahill smiled. “This is Cheryl. She works with Walter’s dancers.”

Dean looked up, the woman was late thirties, she had the same sandy hair as the doctor but hers cut in short bob with bangs. She wore way too much make up and red lipstick. She was dressed in a purple leotard, like something out of an eighties dance flick.

“Eyes down, Pretty.” Walter instructed firmly.

What the fuck? Dean lowered his head.

“Good boy. You only look me in the eyes, understand?”

Dean nodded.

Walter turned to the doctor, “So Cahill, test results?”

“Prêt has all the signs of child neglect and physical abuse.” The doctor said as Walter sat next to Dean. He moved Dean’s arms in from his sides to rest on Dean’s lap and then covered them with his own.

“It’s alright Pretty, I’m here now, going to take care of you.”

The doctor didn’t know what he was talking about, Dean wasn’t abused or neglected.

“Mr Goodman, the bloods show Prêt is anaemic and I recommend a course of B12 injections. He has chronic malnutrition, and his bowlegs indicate a period of rickets as a child. He is underweight, yet his muscle ratio is high for his age, indicating a sustained regime of over exercise. I’m sending my conclusions to the dietician so that calcium and protein rich foods are priority. Regarding exercise, nothing strenuous for Prêt, something that stretches his muscles and lets him work out. Cheryl and I talked in the car and she is going to begin with a yoga style lesson.”

“Thank you Cahill. We appreciate your care and attention, don’t we Pretty?”

The doctor knelt in front of Dean, who was wondering if it was all lies or maybe he was malnourished. Why did Sammy have straight legs? 

Maybe he was sick from always making sure Sammy got fed. Gotta protect Sammy.

“Prêt, can you try and talk for me.” The doctor lifted his face using the back of his hand under the fleshy part of Dean’s chin.

Dean tried to call out Sam’s name.

“Nothing. Huh.” The doctor didn’t sound too worried.

“I thought his voice would be back by now, Cahill.” Walter accused.

“It is only Wednesday morning.”

Dean flinched. Wednesday morning? He tried to stand up. He had to get out of here. He had to get to Sammy. Walter pinned him down to the sofa.

“Stop. Stop fighting me. Now. Stop Pretty or I’ll get the Doc to put you back to sleep.”

Dean stilled. His breath coming ragged with the urgency to flee. He couldn’t be put back to sleep, more days could pass. He needed to stay awake, find a means of escape.

“Good boy. Now open up your mouth for Dr Cahill, he needs to look at your throat.”

Dean did as he was told and the doctor sprayed something metallic tasting into the back of his mouth.

“Just a relaxant, Prêt, it will help your voice come back.” The doctor stood up, “Are you keeping him plugged permanently Mr Goodman? Because if you are gradually stretching him, I can recommend some pelvic floor exercises.”

Dean squirmed at the notion, becoming more aware of the belt and plug now that the doctor had mentioned them. Walter pulled him up into a sitting position and slung an arm around his shoulders. “We are going to move up girths very slowly. I don’t want to damage Pretty.”

He laid a kiss on Dean’s cheek. Dean wished he could wipe his face but he didn’t dare.

“OK, looking good here. If his voice doesn’t return by tomorrow, call me and I’ll give you a salve to apply to his vocal cords. Huh-ha, would be good gag reflex training too.” The doctor laughed at his own joke while Walter showed him out. 

Dean stayed totally still looking at his mittens. He didn’t know if he was allowed to move, and Cheryl was still standing there.

Walter was back and he smacked Cheryl’s ass, causing Dean to look up at the sound.

“Good boy, looking up for me, when I came back. This is Cheryl, she used to be the finest exotic dancer in Chicago. She is retired from the stage now but she trains my girls and boys. She does the choreography for my flagship club, Vanity. She is a busy lady, but she is going to work with you for me. I’ve got some business to take care of, so Chico is going to stay in the apartment to keep you safe. Do what Cheryl says and enjoy the exercise, Pretty.” Dean just nodded, wondering what kind of businesses Walter had a hand in. 

“Cheryl,” Walter called back from the other room, “Leave the door open, so Chico can hear you. Call my boy, Prêt, he is only Pretty for me, and take care of him.”

“Will do, Boss.” The harsh Chicago accent and smokers’ rough voice sounded wrong coming from the petite blond. “OK, Prêt, you ever done yoga before?”

The weirdest hour of his life followed, and that was saying a lot after the last god knows how many days. Cheryl made him stretch muscles he didn’t know existed while re-teaching him how to breathe. The plug frustrated him in some positions, rubbing its silicone head inside him. At the end of the hour he was drenched in sweat and his cock was hard and leaking and Cheryl acted as if she didn’t even notice. He was left trembling in the position she called the cat, on his knees, head to the floor, elbows and lower arms flat beside his head, back curved with his ass pointed into the air. She told him to hold the pose. Dean never noticed her pick up her bag and leave.

Sir’s warm dry hands pulled him out of the fugue. Walter was kneeling behind him and his hands were rubbing up and down his spine and then along his sides. 

“Such a good boy, my little Pretty, so obedient waiting for me like this” he breathed into the back of Dean’s neck. Sir’s large palm snaked under Dean and found his aching cock. As he overloaded Dean’s senses with praise and twisted promises of making him happy, he pulled and tugged, fondling Dean’s full balls against the friction of the belt and finally biting into Dean’s shoulder as Dean came with a hoarse cry of “Sir” into the carpet below his face.

He looked at the ropey cooling come staining the carpet and splattering his chest as Walter pulled him back to rest Dean’s back against his shirt. “Your voice is back Pretty! Aren’t you going to thank me for relieving your need?”

All the curses and foul things Dean had planned to say, all the protests and smart comments, would not form in his mind. “Thank you sir.” Dean croaked, hating himself for being so weak.

“You are most welcome, Pretty. Now darling, you’ve had a long morning, let me help you up and introduce you to Gracie, she is laying out our lunch.”

Dean allowed Walter to help him to stand.

He croaked, “Ahem, Sir, I need to you know, piss, can you take off one of the mittens?” Just ask for one, he might go for that.

“Silly boy, come on now” Walter pulled Dean to his bathroom.

Waterfalls, shake, wet wipe, freaking humiliating. Dean unconsciously buried his head in Walter’s chest until he was pushed back a little for another wet wipe to remove the drying splatters on his chest.

“So adorable, my shy boy. I knew you were special when I saw you, knew I had to have you.”

Dean was not shy. He was out there. Freaking awesome. Not shy. 

It was Walter doing this to him. He had to remember that, focus on getting back to Sam. Maybe when Gracie saw a naked boy with Walter she would be shocked and his voice was back, maybe he could whisper to her that he wasn’t there by choice, ask for help.

The kitchen table had a white tablecloth and china plates, like a prissy hotel. There was a whip thin black woman old enough to be Walter’s mother laying a silver bowl of meat ball pasta in the middle of the table. 

“Master Walter, lunch is served.” She sounded like something in an old time movie and Dean almost laughed until he saw her cold glare focused on him. 

“Thank you Gracie, outdone yourself again. Pretty, Gracie made the meatballs from scratch in her own kitchen below. Don’t they smell good?” Walter steered Dean into a seat and Gracie spread a large napkin over his lap.

“Yes sir.” They did smell good. Dean was surprised at how hungry he was.

Gracie served four ladles of the pasta to Walter and placed a warm bread roll on his side plate with silver tongs.

“How many spoonfuls for the sub?” She asked.

“Grace, Do not call him the sub,” Walter’s voice cracked like a whip and Dean shrank down the seat, “His name is Pretty, and you may address him as Pret.”

“Apologies sir.” She didn’t even sound mildly sorry or afraid of Walter, “How much food do you want to give Pretty?”

“We will see how he does with three ladles. I’ll take a glass of the Shiraz from last night and Pretty will have a half quart of apple juice.”  
Gracie served Dean the permitted amount and a bread roll which she halved for him. Then she lifted the knife and fork and helped Dean grasp them in his gloved hands, as if it was perfectly normal.

Dean was mildly peeved that Walter got an extra ladle of the delicious meatballs but he found he couldn’t quite finish what he had been given. He ate slowly savouring the taste and when he was sated he looked up to see Walter had finished and was leaning back in his chair playing with his wine glass and almost drooling with lust.

Dean dropped the cutlery and pushed himself back in the chair, trying to get a few more inches away.

“Good boy. Finished? You did really well Pretty.”

The traitorous part of Dean’s brain that liked being called good and being told he was doing well spread a warm and comforting feeling through his well fed body. He hadn’t known he was such a praise-whore, craving dumb words from the psycho across the table. 

Get your shit together Winchester. Dean took a breath to tell the man to stop calling him the ridiculous name but it was sucked away as Walters mouth covered his, tongue invading and exploring. Dean could taste the wine from Sir’s mouth and smell the spicy aftershave from his neck. He met the exploring tongue with his own and let the kiss happen. You got to pick your battles.

Gracie had left while they ate, so Walter got Dean to help him carry the plates to the sink. Then he showed him how to fold the linen tablecloth and leave it on the counter, or if it was soiled to put it on the floor next to the padlocked laundry chute. Stupid mittens, he could have that padlock open in a flash.

Walter led him to the huge leather sofa and got a video for them to watch. He positioned them so that Dean was leaning against his side and he placed a possessive arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Dean was alternatively fascinated, disgusted, and maybe a little aroused by “Daddy’s Collared Boy”.

The movie had a small amount of plot, about a shy college boy who seeks out a Dom at a local BSDM club and finds Master Daddy, who teaches him the life, finally rewarding Sonny with his collar and sharing him with two older subs for other Doms’ pleasure. It was all consensual and all the characters looked like they were enjoying themselves. 

Dean tried to look away a few times but Walter pinched his cheeks and forced his head back towards the huge television. When they showed Sonny being stretched on a long black wand, Little Dean sprung to attention, and Walter chuckled as his slid his hand down to work at the plug in Dean’s ass. 

Dean felt like he had been in the twilight zone by the time the credits rolled and Walter pressed rewind.

Walter gave him no time to process the experience. He lifted Dean up on his lap so that Dean’s knees dug into the sofa either side of Walter’s legs and they were face to face.

“So Pretty, I see you enjoyed the movie. I am glad. Time for our Q and A” Walter smiled as lifted Dean’s arms so that the mittens held on to the shoulders of his jacket.

“Q and A, Sir?”

“Yes darling, we will often discuss what you learn. Now what did you think of Sonny?”

“He was a nice guy. I don’t know why he went to that club the first night but he was looking for a master.”

“mmm hmm. Did you think Sonny was a dumb fuck?”

“What? No. He was really smart and I liked him.” Dean didn’t know what else Walter wanted him to say about the stupid porno.

“What about the Master?”

“He was kinda scary. He really liked Sonny but I didn’t like it when he made Sonny take the other slaves at the end.”

“What about the way Sonny was with his Master?”

“I dunno know. It was confusing.”

“How so Pretty?” Walter used a hand to steady Dean’s back and stared into his eyes.

“They did things that the Dom wanted to do, but you could see Sonny wanted to do them too, but then it was real twisted how the Master was called Daddy and he called Sonny, his little son. I felt kinda sick in my mouth when Sonny called him that.”

“Good boy, Pretty, so honest with me.” Walter moved a hand up to gently tease Dean’s nipple, then bent his head to pull the nub with his teeth. “I don’t like daddy-kink either. Sick fucks who fantasise getting off on their own son.”

Dean wondered why he had chosen that movie if he didn’t like it.

“You have been such a good boy today, you deserve a reward.”

Dean wasn’t sure he would like Walter’s idea of a reward. The Dom in the porno seemed to think shooting his load down Sonny’s throat constituted a reward.

Walter produced a 3 inch square wooden box inlaid with mother of pearl. “Open it.”

Dean’s hand shook as he lifted the lid to see his amulet lying in the grey silk lining. The leather cord was gone but the horned amulet was undamaged.

He looked at Walter questioningly.

“You grasped that tight the first night you were here. We had to cut the neckcord and pry it out of your hand. I thought it might have some sentimental value and you would like to keep it.”

“Thanks.” Dean didn’t know what to say or think, again. Walter was blindsiding him with his kindness.

“Now, sweetheart I have to go take care of some business. I’ve left a book for you on your coffee table. I want you to have read the first chapters by the time I get back.”

Walter lifted Dean off his lap and brought him back to his bedroom. “I’m not sure you should have full reign over our home yet, darling, just in case you get a little frustrated while I’m gone, so I’m going to lock the door. If you need anything, press the buzzer and Sylvester will come up from the lobby.”

Left alone. Dean put his wooden box on top of his bedside drawers where he could see it. Then he paced the room. He checked under the bed and tried the closet doors. Even the bathroom cabinet had a simple lock. He needed to pee again. There was no way he was calling a goon to help him with that, so he sat on the toilet and had an indulgent cry as he remembered all his months of patiently toilet training Sammy. This was like reverse toilet training. It fucking sucked. He slammed his fist into the mirror over the sink, but the freaking thing didn’t even crack.

Bored to death, Dean picked up the book Walter had left for him. It was a large format print, which made turning the pages just about manageable with his covered hands. 

Two gladiators, thrown together in the pits under the coliseum, fighting for their lives and fighting their desire for each other. It actually sounded good. The writer had surprisingly good prose and by the time he had finished chapter two, there had been no dirty bits, and a freaking mega fight scene. 

He heard Walter coming back, calling to him as he entered the apartment.

“I’ve brought someone to meet you, Pretty.”

Dean cringed. He thought of Daddy’s Collared Boy and hoped he wasn’t going to be shared with a friend of Walter’s.

The man with Walter was about 5’ 9’ with rusty hair and a trim beard. He was in his mid-twenties and wore brown slacks with a check shirt and dark brown zip-up jacket. 

“Hey Pret.” The new guy grinned at him, “Walter has told me a lot about you. I’m delighted to be working with you. I’m sure we will get along famously.”

“Yes sir,” Dean said, uncertainly.

“Gosh, he is adorable, Walt. You have to get him into the scene.”

“Not until he is trained, Roger, and maybe not even then. I plan on keeping him.” Walter smiled tenderly at Dean, who tried to stop his facial muscles from smiling back without success.

“Crying shame to hide such beauty away,” Roger sat across from Dean, hitching his trousers as he adjusted to the low couch. “So Pret. I’m a teacher. I teach English at the local middle school. I know Walter from the scene. He has hired me to be your tutor. I have to work during the day, and I have a library club after-school Thursdays, but each other day except Sunday, you will get me for two hours. 5 to 7 weekdays, and Saturdays as suits. I will follow the homeschooling syllabus and set your homework which I expect you to complete and we will cover a wide range of subjects. No Math though, son, it was never my strong suit. What grade are you in?”

Dean was kind of in shock at Walter getting him a private tutor. “8th Grade, Sir, but I missed a lot of it. And a lot of 7th too.” Dean wasn’t sure where his educational level was at. School was Sammy’s gig. 

“Don’t worry about any of that. We will soon catch you up. I’m very sorry you had to miss so much school. Your life must have been very hard.” Roger leaned across and patted Dean’s thigh.

Dean looked at Walter to gauge his reaction. “It’s alright Pretty. Good boy for checking with me. Roger isn’t interested in you that way. You are his student. Sometimes Roger is going to need to check you understand and so you have permission to look him in the eye for that reason, otherwise remember to keep those beautiful lashes lowered.”

Dean dropped his head. This whole gig was getting more confusing by the hour.

“Farewell for today, Pret. I just wanted to meet you before our first lesson tomorrow.” Roger stood and gave Dean’s shoulder a squeeze. “Also I am leaving a book for you to start. It is The Pearl by Steinbeck, we will discuss it tomorrow.”

“Thank you sir.” Dean mumbled.

“You can call me Master Roger.” The tutor shook Walter’s hand, “Very nice sub, Walter, I will enjoy teaching him. Are you sure you don’t mind if I bring Puppy with me some days? We grab all the playtime we can while he is in college.”

“Not at all, Roger. Pretty might need a friend.”

Dean was shivering, a trapped caged feeling rising in his chest as the enormity of the fantasy world his captor had created weighed in on him. Walter appeared with a small white pill and glass of water.

“Just your anti-anxiety pill, Pretty. Open up now. Good boy.”

Dean let Sir give him the pill and the drink. He knew he should hide it under his tongue and spit it out later like they would in the movies, but he was too tired and he wanted the shaking to stop.

Walter curled around him as the light faded and Dean felt a calm safety spread through his body.

“Master Walter, dinner is served.” Gracie shouted from the kitchen.

While Dean made a decent stab at his loaded plate of sliced roast duck with roast yams and carrots covered in a sweet sticky sauce, Walter discussed the gladiator book with him and told him that he could put it aside to start The Pearl for his teacher.

After the duck there was Baked Alaska, brought to the table flaming by Gracie. When Walter clapped in appreciation, Dean found himself bring his mittens together with a dull clapping noise. Walter beamed at him and told Gracie to give him a large portion. It was divine, the cold ice cream and the hot cake and meringue. 

“How are you now Pretty?” Walter asked when Dean opened his eyes licking the last smear of ice-cream from his spoon.

“Just peachy.” Dean sighed and realised that he was peachy, warm, full and relaxed. He just wished he knew if Sam was alright.


	4. Darker again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for my mistake that led to me deleting chapters one and two, and having to repost them.  
> I really appriecate the kudos and thank you again to those who left comments on the orginial posting.  
> Dark stuff this chapter.  
> Oh also spoilers for The Pearl by Steinbeck, if you haven't read it.

John Winchester was a master at controlling the rage that consumed him. He had learned to function as a hunter and a father while being filled with hate against the demon that stole his Mary and wanted some terrible fate for his Sam. 

Today his rage focused on Emily Sandwell. Mouse haired and mousy faced, do-good, social worker, with a spine of steel as she stared John Winchester down and told him that one wrong word, one sign of violence and he would never get access to Sam again.

He thought her threat was hollow, but he didn’t want a court battle to visit Sam.

He sat uncomfortably in the Grogans’ front room. They had a nice home with quality furnishings. There were photos of their chubby teenage daughter, and a Christmas one of the three of them with a young Hispanic boy of about six. 

Mr Grogan held Sam’s hand as he brought him into the living room. Sam pulled away from him and threw his arms around John’s waist.

“Hey Sammy? They treating you well?” John asked with genuine concern, ignoring Sandwell and the Grogans.

“Did you find Dean, Dad? Is he OK?”

“Not yet, son. But there are a lot of us looking now.”

“Other hunters?” Sam whispered.

“Uh-huh, and the cops and the CPS and even the Salvation Army are looking for him. We’ll find him.” John hoped to God they would find Dean alive, “So are you alright?”

Sam peppered his tale of life with the Grogans with questions about the search for Dean. John managed to gather that he had his own bedroom, liked his new school, had a try out for the soccer team, didn’t mind the six year old Jaime, thought Sandra the teenager was clever, and found the psychiatrist odd as he asked if John had ever hurt him.

John balled his fists at that one, but swallowed down the bile. 

After a while Sam crooked his finger for his father to bend down and he whispered brokenly in John’s ear, “Is Dean dead? I’m old enough to be told. Is he Dad?”

“No Son. We’ll find him.” John vowed hoping that he would not be breaking that promise.

Too soon the visit was over, but he got the go ahead to see Sam again, supervised on Sunday afternoon.

Back in the Impala, his cell rang. It was Jim.

“John I got a name.”

“Hit me.”

“The streets in the district are controlled by a Walter Goodman. Mid-thirties on his way to greatness in the underworld. He has pimps working the streets for him, but he holds the reins. He also runs two strip joints that are brothels, and a high rolling classy outfit with exotic dancers for the city elite. If Dean was working on one of his corners, then it is possible Walter or someone in his organisation heard what happened to him, or is responsible for his disappearance.”

“I need to find the pervert.”

“Wait, John. You can’t storm in here. You could put Dean at risk, you gotta go at this with a plan. If Walter Goodman has Dean in one of his brothels, then getting to him won’t be easy. We need to find out what we are dealing with here, and straight out, honest to Our Lord, you aren’t the best choice to go asking questions.”

“Jim, you suggesting you shuck the vestments and hit the whorehouses?” John spat down the phone.

“No, some of Goodman’s stable know me now. Caleb will be here by morning. He’ll do it.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

When Dean woke on Saturday morning Walter wasn’t there. He panicked for a moment. Then looked at the bedside table. There was a full glass of water, his meds, and a note on a pink heart-shaped post-it.

“Morning My Pretty, I have been called away on business that I must attend to. Be a good boy for Gracie and Roger. Your loving Walter. X”

Dean took his pills and drank the water. Then relieved himself in the bathroom. It felt very strange not to have Walter there. It gave him a chance to think of Sammy but he pushed the painful worries away.

He went back to sit on his bed. He read some more of the gladiator story as he waited for someone to come. The book was freaking awesome, much better than the boring Steinbeck he was reading for Master Roger. He was half way through and Septimus was lording it over Primus who was scared shitless that their illicit fucking would be discovered.

Gracie appeared and told him to go to the bathroom. He put down his book and did as he was told. 

Gracie was rough with him. Dean wanted to cry as she tugged his plug out and tied the plastic bags too tight around his wrists. He wouldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction and he gave her his best toothy grin as she positioned him for his enema. She didn’t brush his teeth or rub his back but left him for frigging ages cramping and aching with one and a half bags filling his guts.

He was just about to let it all go or start begging when she came back and roughly sat him on the bowl.

In the shower she scrubbed him clean. Dean was afraid to breathe as she briskly shaved his face of his light teenage fuzz and then around his crack and balls. 

“Down boy.” Was her only instruction when she was ready to plug and belt him up.

Dean really hoped that Walter never left her to clean him again. He missed the gentle caressing strokes, and the lavish attention his master gave him during their routine. Gracie made him feel dirty and worthless and he wanted to curl back up in bed until Walter came home.

“Prêt, breakfast is on your table. I have cut and buttered your toast. Do you need me to hand you the cutlery for your eggs?”

“No ma’m.” Dean just wanted to be rid of her.

He got his wish as she left him alone.

Once he had eaten and had his coffee, Dean stretched on the sofa discovering that Kino threw the damn pearl into the ocean at the end of the dumb book. 

He wondered if the pearl was a cursed object and if Kino had salted and burned it at the start how differently the story could have gone.

Dean considered if he should press the buzzer and ask to be allowed to watch a video. He was not permitted to watch regular TV but he was so bored that another gay porno sounded tempting.

There was a knock at the door. Jack stuck his head in. 

“Hey Prêt, my man, how are you?”

“Puppy?” Dean asked slack-jawed at seeing Puppy clothed without his ears, paws, muzzle and tail.

“Jack now, Prêt, we aren’t all as lucky as you to get 24/7 submission. I have a college thing. Gay pride rally after here but I asked Master Roger if I could tag along.”

“OK,” Dean blinked a few times at his friend. Puppy, Jack, whatever.

“You coming in for your lesson? Roger’s wondering if you finished The Pearl, he has got a new book for you, The Scarlet Letter, but I’m not meant to tell you that,” Jack covered his mouth and giggled. 

Dean grabbed The Pearl off the table and followed Jack into the living area, watching the feminine sway of Jack’s hips and wondering if his master would like him to walk like that.

He asked Walter that night after their meal of clam chowder and pecan pie.

Walter laughed and told him he didn’t want him to change anything that he was perfect the way he was.

Perfect. Huh? The man was 31 flavours of crazy.

Walter spent the rest of the evening trying to convince Pretty of his perfection. 

He used his mouth and his tongue, put low tension clamps on his nipples, used warm scented oils on his hands as he pumped his pet’s cock, and finally as his pet begged and pleaded, he entered him for the first time, filling him up and thrusting him back into the headboard as Pretty maintained eye contact like the good boy he was.

When they were both insensible and boneless in the bed, Walter wrapped his arms around his pet calling him his good beautiful boy.

“Your Pretty, yes sir,” Dean mumbled and Walter smiled at his taste of victory as his sub embraced his rightful name.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The supervised visit on Sunday had started well. Bombarded with unanswerable questions about Dean and subjected to a half an hour long explanation of the offside rule, John had finally lost the plot when Sam accused him of not looking hard enough for Dean.

“I am your father Sam, and don’t you forget it. You are not too old for my belt.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth John could have slammed his own head into the wall.

He was escorted out by Mr Grogan and Emily Sandwell while Sam cried into Mavis Grogan’s chest.

On Monday afternoon he was told that his visitation rights had been revoked and there was a restraining order in force. He was also informed that the Chicago office had received his sons’ files, cataloguing years of alerts and suspicions across various states, including several doctors’ reports on Dean’s hunting injuries and the police investigation notes from the time Dean had been hospitalised overnight when John couldn’t stop himself as he beat into Dean after the striga. 

John found comfort in a bottle of scotch as Caleb kept him silent company. Staggering back to the apartment, they passed an alley with two working girls smoking against the wall.

“On a break girls?” John slurred.

Caleb poked him in the chest, unsure if John was picking them up or trying to get information in his drunken stupor.

“What’s it to ya?” The skinner one with the pink hair called.

“You see any new young boys working the streets?” John asked her.

“Fuck you, you want a boy, go to the bus station, creep.”

Caleb pulled John away and stuck a shoulder under his arm pit as they made their way home.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On Tuesday morning in the bathroom, Pretty put out his hands and Walter removed the mittens. Then he turned over his pet’s hands and laid butterfly kisses into his palms.

After breakfast Walter left Pretty alone. Flexing his fingers, Dean remembered how to pick a lock with a slender nail and set to work.

He picked the lock on the closet and found a pair of running shorts and a dark vest top. He had no time to remove his belt contraption worried that Walter might return at any moment, or Gracie could appear.

In the second closet he found a pair of trainers and laced them up over his bare feet.

At the main door to the apartment all the locks opened from the inside except one that needed the key on both sides. It was a tricky one without his Dad’s set of lock picks but he crowed in delight when the catch gave.

He was out into the short hall in front of the elevator. He couldn’t risk using that. He looked for fire stairs. There was a door disguised to blend into the wall on his right. 

He had to hurry. The numbers were moving up from G on the elevator panel. It might be one of the resident whores going home to a lower storey or it could be Gracie, Walter, or one of the gorillas.

He worked the door open and fled down the concrete fire well. 

Bursting through the door at the bottom into the slender daylight of the side alley, he landed into Sylvester’s arms. Son of a bitch.

Sylvester clamped a hand over his mouth and carried him through the fire exit and through another door into the lobby. Chico appeared and they got Dean back up to the apartment. He was thrown onto the leather sofa and told to lie with his face pressed into the crack between the back and seat cushions.

“You move and we will break your legs, You got that Prêt, Mr Goodman doesn’t need you able to walk, You understand” Chico told him with a voice like ice.

Dean nodded into the seat cushion, trying to ignore how truly fucked he was. He tried to calm the tremors running through his body using his yoga techniques while he waited.

Then Walter came into the room like a whirlwind with Dr Cahill in his wake.

“Pretty, what did you do? Pretty look at me and answer me.” Walter turned Dean’s body around.

Dean looked up at Walter who was looming over him. “I ran.”

“You ran. Ran from me, I don’t understand.” Walter sounded shocked and upset. “Doctor what are we going to do with him? He put himself at risk. How can I trust him?”

Dean shrank back into the sofa as the doctor pulled up his arm and gave him a long injection.

When Dean woke up. He was in his darkened bedroom. The dimmer switch was set to low and he didn’t know how long they had kept him under.

He opened his mouth to speak but his voice had been taken again. He tried to push himself up on the sheets but he couldn’t move.

The doctor stood over him.

“Good. You responded to the anti anaesthetic very well. I’m just going to administer a muscle relaxant now so that we can put in a tube to feed you your protein shake.”

Dean watched as the doctor pushed something into the IV bag. 

“Don’t worry, Prêt, you won’t be left alone. You get 24 hour care now. Gracie and Cheryl know how to change your sound and catheter and make sure your restraints aren’t too tight and your new bed can be electronically raised and lowered for feeding. You have your new hard leather fisted mitts too, so don’t worry about trying to do anything for yourself.”

It was a nightmare. An enormous nightmare. He was in hell. This was surely hell. 

He had no concept of time. They came and let him suck bland protein shakes through a straw again and again but he didn’t know if he was being fed once a day or three times or more. 

Heavy drapes had been hung over the windows and there was a constant low light in the room. 

There was no TV or music. He tried reciting Zep lyrics in his head, but that made him think of the Impala. He tried listing all the places he had lived, backwards, but that made him cry silently for Sammy. 

When he fell asleep he dreamed that they never let his hands out of the ball mitts again and his fingernails grew into his palms. 

He dreamed that they never gave him his voice back and trained him to be a Puppy and sold him to Roger and Jack. 

He dreamed of Doctor Cahill coming at him with knives to shape him into something new. 

He dreamed that he was such a bad boy that Walter only returned to spit on him before he was fed to the lions in the coliseum. 

He dreamed that Sam forgot who he was. 

He dreamed that he could scream out loud but no-body could hear Dean screaming. 

He dreamed that Pretty was a good boy and if he was really good then Master Walter would come and save him.

Gracie and Cheryl didn’t speak to him. Doctor Cahill came and changed his IV. Master Roger didn’t come. Walter didn’t come.  
It was so quiet. Dean thought he might lose his mind. 

He itched in places he couldn’t scratch. His ass and back ached from the pressure of lying down continuously. He really wanted to turn over. He screamed inside for Walter to come and forgive him. Pretty could be a good boy. He didn’t need to be held down on the bed. He could show Walter that he was trustworthy. He could be good. 

Finally Doctor Cahill came with Walter. 

Dean sobbed as Walter held his head. Then as the Doctor unstrapped him Walter gathered him into his chest.

“I’m sorry.” Dean choked.

“You made me very unhappy Pretty. All I have done to help you.”

“I’m sorry, Sir, so sorry. I’ll never do it again, Please, please forgive me.”

“Do you mean it?” Walter sounded so sad.

“Yes, yes, I do. I’m sorry. Please master, please. I can be a good boy. You can trust me again. I’ll be a good boy. I can show you, please let me out of the bed so I can show you.”

“My dearest little Pretty. I do forgive you but I don’t know if I can trust you?”

“Thank you, thank you. You can trust me, please. Leave the mittens on. I won’t do anything again. Please master, I’m your Pretty, I can be good.”

Walter pulled him in, tucking his boy’s head under his chin.

“Ok Pretty, we’ll try it your way. Cahill will you get me the other mittens from the box.”

Dean looked up. “I bought these for you Pretty. They are really nice and soft and your hands will feel really good in them. Look they are like pink flannels, but there is a place for your thumb, and they just have a little zip on the cuff, so if you were bad boy you could open them with your teeth. But I’m going to trust you to leave them on and tomorrow morning we will go back to our routine.”

“I’ll never take them off.” Pretty promised as Walter worked the hard black ball mitts off.

“No pet, you won’t. When the time comes, I will take them off.” Walter kissed his pet’s palms and massaged his aching fingers so that they could straighten again.

“That feels so good. Thank you Master. I’m so sorry.” Pretty held both hands out so that Walter could slip the soft fleecy mittens on.

“Good boy, thanking me for your gift. Come on now, let’s get you out of that bed, into the shower and get your belt back on.”


	5. Sightings, vacations and brothers

After two months, John was just about ready to snatch Sam and hit the road. 

Something kept him in Chicago. Some slim hope that without finding Dean's body, he might still be alive. 

Caleb, Jim and Steve Wandell had each taken a week with him. But it was Gordon Walker who got the first break in weeks. He had quite believably introduced himself as a newcomer to Chicago at a BSDM club and overheard that Walter Goodman had a new young pet who he was training in seclusion.

John wanted to raid every premises Goodman owned but settled for surveillance of Goodman and his crew.

In the eighth week of Dean’s disappearance, Caleb and Gordon learned that Goodman was keeping the new slave in his own home and that he was a teenage boy.

Rufus Turner was taking over from Caleb as John’s wingman on Friday. Gordon had already left due to a suspected vampire hunt in Utah.  
The plan was for Rufus and John to mount a concentrated stake out on Goodman’s apartment block. 

Caleb had secured a pass for Vanity for the Saturday night. Caleb was to ensure that Goodman was enjoying his private booth at the club while Rufus and John broke into the penthouse.

John was determined to rescue the boy that was trapped in Walter’s apartment. He just prayed the boy was Dean, as the only other alternative left was that Walter had killed Dean that very first April night for selling himself on Walter’s patch.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Pretty didn’t know how long he had lived with Master Walter. The summer was coming and he really would love to be able to go outside more than once a week.

He loved his routine. It kept everything safe and Master Walter was very happy with him. He only ever wore his pretty pink mittens now on days that Master Walter had a special reason to keep his hands away. 

He had hoped Puppy would come with Master Roger yesterday, but it was the last week of school and Pretty was taking his homeschooling assessments. Master Roger said that Jack had important exams to study for.

It was Thursday, the best most wonderful day of the week. 

It was the day that proved to him how important his happiness was to his Master Walter.

At 3pm Pretty sat in lotus position on the floor inside the apartment door dressed and ready for Fugly Driver and Sylvester to bring him to the car. He let them buckle him into the back seat and strap a leather cuff and chain to his wrist to guarantee he would stay put. Pretty had no intentions of running, but he never protested the restraint.

Soon they parked as close as they could to the open chain link fence and Pretty pressed his face against the tinted windows eyes searching. It was the best Thursday ever. The ball hit the fence feet from the window and Sammy ran to retrieve it. The mop haired boy bent double hand on his hip relieving a muscle ache, as his brother mouthed his name inside the car. It was the closest view of Sammy yet and he looked great and had grown and looked fit. Then he was gone. The car stayed until soccer practice was over.

“Hey Prêt,” Sylvester called from the front seat, “We gotta go back now, son. You good?”

“Yeah, Sir, very good, awesome.” Pretty felt the glow of Sam’s presence all the way home, and began counting down the hours until next Thursday. Knowing Sam was fine lifted all his worries away and let him think of how he could show Master Walter again how much giving him the gift of seeing Sam meant to him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On Saturday, Caleb dressed in black leather, bought by one of John’s fake cards, presented his gold embossed pass at the door of Vanity.  
He moved around the different dance stages, letting his eyes linger on the top class strippers who could easily qualify to be the face of a month on the Pirelli calendar.

He took a position across the runway stage from Goodman’s private booth. The booth was occupied by a number of people, but the angle of the booth meant Caleb couldn’t see into it. After an hour he saw Walter Goodman emerge and speak with his floor manager.

Caleb made his way to the furthest of the three men’s restrooms. Checking each of the cubicles were empty he called John giving him the good news. It was ten after ten and Walter normally didn’t leave until after midnight.

After giving John the green light he made his way back to his spot to keep up the surveillance.

One of the huge bouncers was guiding a boy to the restroom beyond the booth. Caleb held his breath and the boy looked back towards the booth. It was Dean. Halleluiah.

Caleb tried to make his way to the mensroom. He was blocked by the second bodyguard.

“Sorry man, just looking for the restrooms.” Caleb apologised.

“Use the other ones beside the bar. These are occupied.” The bruiser pointed.

Caleb turned and walked away. He had been so close. But there was no way he was going to succeed in getting Dean out alone. 

He took the cubicle in the restroom and called John back.

“John?”

“Darnation, Caleb? We are ready to hit the fire escape here.”

“He’s here.”

There was silence.

“John? Dean is here. I saw him. He is in the private booth with Goodman. He is alive and he looks fine.”

Caleb just about thought he heard John Winchester trying not to cry on the other end of the line.

“John?”

“Did he look hurt or frightened, Caleb, cos I am going to rip every limb from that godamned pervert Goodman?”

“I wasn’t close enough John. The private booth is sealed off and they have armed bodyguards.”

“OK. Lets meet back at base and we can get a plan together to pull my boy out of this.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On Sunday morning two breakfast meetings happened simultaneously.

John, Caleb and Rufus were planning a daylight raid on the penthouse, for when Walter was away at his club offices with at least one of the bodyguards. It was risky and they needed help. Rufus called Bobby Singer over John’s protests and Singer agreed to join them. Elkins was on his way, tasked with snatching Sam from the Grogans, so that the Winchesters could flee Chicago as one unit.

In Goodman’s apartment Roger, Jack, Walter and Pretty were digging into a mountain of pancakes with maple syrup.

Walter turned to his pet and wiped some syrup from his lips.

“Pretty, I have a surprise for you.”

“You do? Thank you sir,” Pretty smiled, wondering if they were going back to the club that night. He had enjoyed his first visit the night before. Walter had turned his face away from the female performers but let him watch the oiled muscled guys later in the night. His master had ended the night by letting him sit on top to ride his cock in the booth while Puppy sucked Roger next to him. It was the hottest thing ever.

“Have you ever heard the saying, the bad news and the good news, Pretty?”

“Yes sir,” Pretty ran his tongue over his lower lip, not sure he wanted bad news.

“I have some bad news. Not terrible news, my sweet boy, but I’ll give you this news first and then tell you the good news.”

“Yes sir” Pretty said obediently, but the pancakes felt like a lead weight in his stomach.

“The Grogans left Chicago this morning for their summer home on Lake Ontario.”

“Sir, did they take Sammy?” Pretty thought he might cry at the table in front of everyone.

Walter moved his chair closer and rubbed his upper arm. “Yes, pet, Sam is gone to Canada for the summer. I am sure he will have a great time. I checked it out and they have a timeshare in an activity park on the lake.”

“OK,” Pretty’s lips trembled. “I want Sam to be happy.” No Thursdays for the whole summer.

“Now darling here is your good news.” Walter beamed at him.

Jack handed Pretty a glossy folder with the picture of a sandy beach. 

He opened the folder and found a booking for a cabana at the all inclusive Playa Cabanas complex in Playa del Carmen near Cancun, Mexico. There were four plane tickets for Jack Taylor, Roger White, Walter and Prêt Goodman, leaving O’Hare at 8pm that night.

Pretty threw his arms around Walter’s neck and kissed him. “Thank you master. I couldn’t bear to be here for the summer with you at work and no schooling and no Sam. Thank you.”

“My good boy. I knew that. Don’t I say that I will always take care of you and give you what you need? We have the cabana for two months until the end of August. I will have to fly back and forth but Puppy is going to stay with you all summer.”

Pretty kissed his master again and leaned in for a crushing hug.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of packing and choosing what books to bring and trying to fit everything into his new hard cased wheelie bag.

Tanya came and threaded his eyebrows and gave him a bottle of cuticle oil, because he would have to take care of his own nails in Mexico.

Walter took him to the shower and removed his belt and plug before they left for the airport.

Pretty was even able to give Gracie a genuine smile as they left the building.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

John Winchester pencilled 27th June 1994 in his journal as one of the top five worse days of his life. 

The day had begun with promise. 

Elkins had arrived. Singer was at Rufus’s motel.

They were splitting up, Singer and Elkins were going to the Grogans to collect/take Sam.

Rufus, Steve and John were going downtown to the apartment block. The intention was to confirm how long Goodman left the apartment in the mornings, but if the opportunity presented itself, they were going in to retrieve Dean.

Singer rang Rufus saying that the Grogan home was closed up for the summer and there was no sign of them. He was leaving Elkins on site and returning to the motel to suit up as a lawyer looking for the family. He wanted Rufus as his sidekick for interviewing neighbours, saying Daniel was an idjit unless he was dealing with vampires.

After five hours of Steve Wandell’s company stuck in Steve’s red car with its broken A/C, John wanted to gouge out his own eyeballs.  
It was becoming clear that there was no-one home in the penthouse. 

As the businesses on the street started to close up for the day, some of the working girls emerged from the building. John sent Steve to see what information he could gather.

Steve slouched back into the car, “You are not going to like it Winchester. The girls say that the goon Chico is in charge while Walter is in Mexico playing with his new fuck toy.”

“Mexico! How could he get Dean out of the country from under our noses?”

“Don’t bust a gasket, it is a vacation. The girls said it was his annual vacation. They didn’t know how long they went for but the guy has his criminal empire to run. He won’t stay away long.”

John and Steve headed for the nearest bar, which turned out to be a sports bar. It was full of crazy Spaniards fresh from the match in Soldier’s Field, where Spain had beaten Bolivia in the soccer world cup. The screens were playing a replay of the match, as John pulled his cell out seeing missed calls from Rufus.

He made his way out to the street, getting draped with a red and yellow scarf on his way.

“Rufus, report.”

“They are in Trenton.”

“New Jersey?”

“No. Ontario.”

“What the hell? Both Sam and Dean have been taken out of the country.”

“John, what, where is Dean?”

“Freaking Mexico on vacation with Goodman.”

“Jesus.”

John ran his hand through his hair, “What is the story with Sam?”

“Seems the Grogans go to Trenton mid-June every year. They delayed this year to take Sam to the opening ceremony of the soccer world cup. They left last Friday. They have a timeshare in a holiday complex on the lake some sort of fake-camping set up. According to the stepford wife Bobby talked to it is a kids’ paradise. Also swarming with parents and staff. You want to go after him, we’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I have an idea, Rufus. Thanks man. I had better get back to Steve. Rendezvous back at the apartment?”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Kate Milligan was a busy woman. She worked long shifts as a nurse at Windom Area Hospital, leaving her three year old son, Adam, with her mother, the kindergarten and 17 year old Susie Van Dyke. 

Money was always an issue. She used every penny of the sporadic envelopes of dirty greenbacks sent by John I-can-make-you-feel-so-good-without-a-condom Winchester, to avoid foreclosure on her modest three bed house. 

The man wondered why she wouldn’t let him see Adam. The gall was staggering. How would a three year old cope with an unreliable father? Her boy was better without the fly by night hunter.

The fly by night hunter who was currently leaning against her door jam, with two day stubble, dark sexy eyes, and a gravel voice, “Hi Kate.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On July 17th Kate and Adam Milligan arrived at Trenton Holiday Village.

Her three year old was surprisingly accepting and placid at getting a father and a vacation all in one swoop.

The hospital personnel department had been very supportive of her request to change her vacation weeks.  
After all she had ‘won’ a week on Lake Ontario.

The complex was fantastic and the Tiny Club activities for Adam were top notch. All Kate had to do was sit by the pool, take relaxing walks, avoid the Grogan family, and wait five days until the older kids weekly adventure hike.

While she avoided the Grogans, that didn’t stop her eyes from finding them, seeking them out with a morbid curiosity.

The first night she discovered that the table with three well behaved children in her section of the restaurant was the Grogans regular spot. Her cabin-neighbour Nosey Nora, who had demanded Kate’s life history (fake) and supplied none of her own, saw her admiring gaze on the quiet calm family in the sea of shouting children.

“Them’s the Grogans from Chicago, here every year, one of the timeshare owners.” Nora said as she worked at her teeth with a toothpick.  
Kate nodded to encourage the gossiping woman.

Nora paused at her teeth picking, “Stephen is a corporate lawyer, sure to make partner this year. Mavis is a stay at home Mom. The fat girl is Sandra, they adopted her as a baby from some Catholic agency. The small kid is Jaime, Hispanic; mother is in prison for drug running. He is fostered but they have been coming with him for the last four summers. Middle kid is new. Sam. Some sort of academic genius, but a case of neglect. I have it on good authority that they have a restraining order on his crazy father. Who knows what sort of abuse that poor boy has suffered?”

When Kate managed to get a word in, she excused herself and Adam.

By day three she was feeling tendrils of guilt. She had seen Sam playing in the pool with Jaime and Sandra. She had seen him reading under a tree, when Mavis brought him an ice cream. She had seen Stephen and Mavis cheer Sam at the archery competition, which he won. 

On the fourth day she abandoned a cocktail at the balcony bar overlooking the crazy golf course, where the Grogans were hysterical with laughter at Jaime’s attempts to play.

On the morning of D-day she had a migraine. Adam threw a tantrum to match his worst of the terrible twos when she told him he couldn’t go to Tiny Club.

She did the first part of her job by intercepting a gangly college-age kiddie entertainer with a note asking him to give it to the departing hiking group leader.

She watched from behind the playground as the note was delivered and Sam Winchester turned back for the reception building with a scowl that could kill at twenty paces.

She sent the text message to a man called Caleb, “On his way back”, and ran to the cabin to fetch Adam and check out.

Sam Winchester was in the reception looking lost and telling a group leader that he was told to go there, that he was being interviewed by Trenton Community Newsletter for winning the archery completion every week.

Kate was telling the receptionist that she didn’t care about losing the money for the rest of the vacation, that she had a family crisis and they had to go, when a young man with slicked down hair and a cheap suit, carrying a camera, came through the doors. 

She saw a flash of recognition on Sam’s face and then it went blank. 

She walked past the man and drove out of the holiday park, pulling in just beyond the gates and waiting.

Her heart thudded against her ribs. Adam wouldn’t stop singing about Elmo. 

There was a knock on the driver’s window, and for a moment Kate feared it was a Mountie, but it was the slicked hair man and John’s son.  
They opened the doors and climbed into the car.

The drive was filled with awkward silence, interspersed with even more awkward words.

Leaving Trenton town, Adam revealed John’s secret and told Sam he was his brother. Kate gasped at the information her son had picked up. A quiet three year old is not a deaf three year old.

On highway 401, Sam asked for actual proof.

On highway 62, Kate passed Caleb her purse and got him to pass Sam the maternity ward photo of John holding Adam.

At the border, Sam pronounced himself a big brother.

Within 2 hours drive they were in Jefferson County, New York. Crossing the border on false passports, was terrifying, thinking that just maybe the alarm had been raised at the holiday park before the all day hiking group returned without Sam. But the border guards didn’t give them a second look.

On Highway 81 as Caleb protested, Sam phoned Sandra Grogan and told her that he was safe and that he loved all the Grogans.

On the outskirts of Watertown, Sam threw his phone out the window into oncoming traffic.

As they turned onto country roads, Adam peed his pants.

Kate cursed as they stopped at a gas station. While she changed Adam in the women’s restroom, Caleb and Sam bought Twinkies and sodas.

By the time they reached Carthage, Adam was asleep with his head on Sam’s lap.

Kate had not brought her Ford to a complete stop when Sam was out the door and leaping onto the hood of John’s Impala.

John emerged from the car and grabbed his son into a tight hug, tears pouring down his face.

“Dad, Daddy, really I need to breathe, and I’m eleven now, I’m not a baby.”

John put Sam down but was still speechless as Sam punched him in the gut.

“What was that for? You gotta know Sammy, I couldn’t get you sooner.”

“No, Daaaaaad, you didn’t tell me about Adam.”

“Did Kate tell you?” John glared daggers at her.

“No, Daaaaaad, Adam told me.” Sam crooked a finger for his father to bend down and he whispered in his ear, “Did you find Dean?”

Kate watched as John took Sam into the front seat of the Impala. She could see John’s mouth moving, Sam nodding, John looking grave, Sam crying, John clapping his boy on the shoulder, Sam’s back straightening and John nodding in approval.

Sam came out of the car and walked over to Adam who was clung to Kate’s pant leg.

“Adam, we have a bigger brother, and he is the best brother ever, he is like Batman and Frank Hardy and Tom Sawyer and I am going to rescue him.”

Sam didn’t even see Adam’s little hand reaching for him as he turned stalked back to the Impala, to sit ramrod in the back seat and waiting to leave Carthage.


	6. Going in

Pretty almost bent down and kissed the tarmac at O’Hare.

Even if Walter promised him a week swimming with dolphins in Australia he was never getting on a plane again. 

It defied logic that a heavy metallic box should stay airborne. The turbulence on their outgoing journey had confirmed every suspicion about the unnatural transport. He had an ‘actual’ as Sammy would say panic attack in Cancun when they were due to board the flight home. Walter had sat on the floor of the terminal holding him as he recovered his breath and given him two valium. The drugs were the only reason he had made it home.

At passport control the cheeky guard asked him what kind of name Prêt was. He gave him his best smirk back and told the guard it was his name. Walter couldn’t contain himself, and they laughed as they walked through customs to arrivals. 

There was a tall black man taking photographs of the passengers as they came through the doors. Pretty wanted to ask Walter if they could get a copy of their photo for his collection, but Fugly Driver and Chico were there to meet them.

As they drove home, Walter talked business with his men. So Pretty stuck in his earphones and listened to Motorhead. He closed his eyes but remained aware of his master stroking his thigh lightly.

Reliving the wonderful summer, as they were caught in rush hour gridlock, Pretty leaned into Walter’s side.

The deep and wide private pool that you could step into from the French windows of their bedroom

The straw roofed shaded veranda at the front of the cabin, where Pretty could laze and read when the sun got too powerful for his freckled skin.

Mornings when Walter would lovingly cover every inch of his boy in sunscreen, some mornings using it as lube as they fucked on the bathroom floor

Evenings in restaurants that never questioned their age difference and poured a glass of wine for Pretty too.

Afternoons of swimming with Jack, or playing ball with Puppy, or debating the merits of Harper Lee vs. Mark Twain with Roger.

Walks at sunset on a white sandy beach with his master holding his hand and taking possession of his mouth with his tongue.

The only way it could have been improved on was if Sam was there, not there with Walter, because he didn’t want Sam to lose his name or be changed and re-moulded like he was, but if it had been Sam and his vacation. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sam was angry. More angry than normal.

If you met the young boy you would never think he was angry. His report cards called him a well mannered bright boy, sometimes his brother had been concerned about bullies, but overall Sam gave an aura of a studious normal boy who played soccer and made friends at his new schools.

Inside Sam was boiling. He raged against his father, he raged against his hobo-childhood, he raged about the way his father treated Dean, he raged at never being allowed a dog, never being allowed to choose the music in the car, never having a mother, and at having the only person he could rely on ripped out of his life.

Currently his temper was reaching volcanic proportions. He knew it. He could feel his blood heating and wondered if he was an X-man or a mutant, would his superpower be to melt rock with his eyes, or blow brains apart with a snap of his fingers.

His father was downstairs in the Milligans’ kitchen with Pastor Jim, Caleb and Rufus. He had been sent to the bedroom in the middle of the day to watch his baby half-brother nap. He was stuck in the baby blue twin bedroom which he had to share with Adam while a perfectly good third bedroom, the size of a closet maybe but empty, was across the hall. 

Adam goo gaa-ed and sang in his sleep, every night, and he was starting now.

Sam stood up stretching all 5’ 2” of himself. 

He had enough. He had been promised by Mr I-will-be-back-on-Wednesday Promise Breaker Dad that he could be part of the rescue and it was time he insisted on it.

The hunters were crouched over the kitchen table looking at street maps of Chicago and a scattering of photographs, when Sam pounded down the stairs and flung himself over Pastor Jim’s shoulder grabbing the first picture he laid his hand on.

“Is that Dean, Dad?” Sam demanded as looked at the blown up shot in his hands.

“Yes son.” John smiled tightly at Sam.

“He looks real good, Dad,” Sam’s anger lessened as he looked at the picture of his brother, “His new family must be as nice as the Grogans. His face is fuller and his hair... It is longer and he must have been in the sun all summer, cos his hair is bleached and he is all freckled. He’s not wearing hunter clothes, Dad. But he looks good in the pink cotton shirt and those coloured surfer shorts. What’s that in his hand? Dad! Dean has a portable CD player! Is that his foster dad hugging his shoulder?”

The other hunters looked at John.

“Sam,” John spoke slowly and Sam looked up from the picture. “Dean is not in foster care. You know this. A man kidnapped Dean. That man touching Dean is the evil son of a bitch who took him.”

“But Dad, they are in an airport and Dean is smiling.”

“I know, Sam, but you know how adult things are complicated. Well this man has lied to Dean and he is keeping him away from us. But now we know where they are and we are going to get him.”

“I’m coming.”

“Sam Winchester, You are not coming.” John used his best marine voice.

“I am Dad. I’m coming. I’m gonna rescue Dean.” Sam matched his father’s tone and intention.

Caleb cleared his throat, “It might be a good idea to have Sam somewhere close by. We don’t know how Dean will react but with Sam there it might be easier.” 

Caleb gave John a stare saying that Sam could keep Dean calm if he didn’t want to be rescued. The possibility had been raised by Pastor Jim who explained that Dean might resist their attempt to pull him out. John didn’t give the suggestion much credence. He knew his son. 

However he also knew some good guys who had been pretty mind-fucked at the hands of the Viet Cong, and had let the others debate on Stockholm Syndrome as he looked at the smiling teen in Rufus’s photograph.

It was a risk taking Sam, but perhaps one worth taking.

“OK Sam. You will stay in the Impala, and you will shoot any stranger who tries to get into the car or pull you out of it.”

“Yes sir. Thanks Dad. When are we getting Dean?” 

“Tonight.”

Sam had won. His rage focused like a laser on the task of retrieving his brother.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Pretty was fucking happy.

He was freaking awesome. 

He was having the best day (excluding Thursdays).

The day had started off peachy, when he found out that Gracie was on her own vacation, and he got to cook breakfast himself. Walter pronounced his white egg omelettes better than the housekeepers. Take that wizened bi-atch. She might be grudgingly helping him with his Family Science lessons but he was the better cook. Score one for Pretty.

When Walter left to go check up on business, Cheryl came by and they did the gentle stretching routine he had followed in Playa del Carmen, while he told her all about the vacation.

Even Tanya’s grumpy moaning about the state of his nails as she gave him a full manicure, didn’t dampen his spirits, and made up for it by giving him a massage with jasmine and ylang ylang oils, which sent him to sleep.

Walter turned up with Biggersons bags of burgers and fries at lunch time, saying one meal of junk food on their first day back wouldn’t kill them.

Jack had finished reading the Gladiators Together sequel on the plane and had loaned it to Pretty, who spent the next couple of hours on the low sofa in his bedroom reading how Primus was sold from under Septimus’s nose and now Septimus had to fight for his freedom so he could find his lover.

In the evening Master Roger had come with Puppy-Jack and announced Pretty’s pre-holiday test scores. Walter was so proud of him that he had opened a bottle of real old French Champagne to celebrate and then another bottle of tastier Californian sparkling wine. They had all drank wine and Master Walter had rung for takeout bento boxes. 

Master Roger had taken Puppy’s muzzle off and they had sat around and watched Tombstone on video, mocking and drunken laughing at the western mistakes. 

Master Walter had given him a new phone, a top of the range one with a camera in it. Puppy took a photo of Walter with Pretty on his lap. Then he showed him how to make it his phone screen wallpaper. It was the bomb.

Walter called a cab for Roger and Puppy, hiding Jack’s car keys, to ensure they got home safe.

Once their guests were gone, Walter took him to the bathroom. Pretty leaned, a little intoxicated, into his master’s chest as he removed all their clothes and Pretty’s belt. Walter began by kissing Pretty’s collar bones and working a line of hickeys into his neck. Once he was satisfied with his work he moved up and Pretty was ready for the kiss that pushed demandingly into his mouth. Walter kept their mouths pressed together, as he moved Pretty to the bed and laid him on his back.

Showering Pretty with compliments on how good he was and how beautiful Walter licked and sucked his way down to his small new ownership tattoo. The ‘W’ enclosed in a ‘O’ above Pretty’s hip, owned by Walter. 

Pretty relaxed boneless under Walter’s attention. He phased out all the compliments. They felt good but still unbelievable, but Walter liked to tell him these things, so that was alright, and his throbbing cock seemed to like it.

Walter eased two fingers into Pretty, not so tight after the new slightly wider plug. He lubed up and used three to scissor his pet open. The boy made the prettiest moaning sounds as Walter added a fourth finger. He didn’t want this to hurt.

“Now, please, sir, please Walter, fuck me.”

“Good boy, asking for what you want.” Walter purred as he pushed his hard cock into the prepped hot hole. He pulled Pretty’s legs around his waist as he drove home. “Eyes up darling and keep those arms by your side.”

Pretty locked onto Walter’s face as the man set a hard pace, his ball sack slapping against his pet and filling him up.

“So good, master, please.”

Walter shifted his weight and pulled out only to ram back in, growling as he hit Pretty’s prostate again and again. “Come for me boy, come on, without me having to jerk you off, come on Pretty, you can do it.”

There was a loud bang and Pretty thought he was hearing things in his orgasmic state. Walter’s head whipped around to the bedroom door as three men burst through. 

One of them wrenched Walter back, hurting Pretty as Walter’s dick was wrenched out of him. At the same time the big man roared at Walter to get the fuck off his son.

Pretty lowered his eyes. He was not looking at these men. 

He couldn’t see Walter on the ground by the bathroom. The three men had surrounded him.

Pretty jumped out of the bed to try and get to his phone on the coffee table.

He was flying over the back of the sofa when he heard a gunshot and Walter scream.

He turned around and dashed back to the bedroom, and straight through the middle of the two smaller men. Walter had been shot in the thigh. 

“Dean, Dean get away from him, son.” 

The big man was John. 

Pretty almost froze from shock but he stood between the men, Caleb and Pastor Jim, and Walter. 

“Dean,” John pleaded. “Please get back. Jim?”

Pretty fought Caleb and Jim as they dragged him away from Walter. He begged, “Please don’t hurt him. Please, please Pastor, please Caleb, don’t hurt him.”

The men held him back while John shot Walter again, and this time Walter kept screaming. Pretty broke free and got to the bedroom in time to see John stabbing Walter repeatedly in the groin with his bowie knife. “You fucker, you pervert, paedophile scum, this is too quick for you. I hope you end up in the worst hell, tormented by demons for eternity, you bastard.”

Pretty could see that Walter was already dead. He knew death when he saw it. He was numb. He didn’t know where to look or what to do. He wanted to be held by Walter and be told it would be alright. 

John stood up splattered with Walter’s blood and pulled Dean into a bear hug. Pretty stiffened his body against the man who had murdered his master.

“Dean, my son, I’ve got you now. I am so sorry it took so long. I never stopped looking for you. I’ve got you back.” John kissed the top of his head, “We’ll have to get rid of the girlie hair, hey Dean-o?”

Dean looked down at his bare feet. There were tiny spots of blood on his legs that had spattered across the room.

“Dean are you ok? Can you hear me? The bastard didn’t damage your hearing did he?”

Dean looked at the droplet of Walter’s blood as it left the point of the knife in John’s hand and gravitated down to the cream carpet.

“John?” It was Pastor Jim. “I don’t think Dean feels like talking now. Why don’t we get out of here?”

Dean turned around and lifted the handle of his roll wheel suitcase. It was still leaning against the closet, waiting to be unpacked.

“Dean, leave that. I don’t want you bringing anything from here.”

“The boy needs clothes.” Caleb pointed out dryly.

Dean looked down at his naked body, nothing not even his belt. 

John tried to open the closet and when he realised it was locked he shot the mechanism. “Goddamnit. These are crap clothes.”

John pulled out a pair of grey yoga pants and a white hoodie and threw them to the bed.

Dean put them on but grabbed his suitcase again.

There was the sound of police sirens. John caught Dean’s arm and pulled him from the apartment as Dean tried to resist. Dean kept his eyes on Walter’s body until he could no longer see him. Then he made his body a dead weight trying to stop John, who just lifted him over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold. Caleb took the suitcase as they ran down the fire stairs. Dean shivered at the memory of the last time he had used the fire exit. John put Dean down to push through the doors.

There was a van and the Impala parked in the alley. There was a mop of hair in the passenger side of the car. Sammy. 

Dean ran to the car. Sammy jumped out to meet him, as John roared that Sam had been ordered to stay in the car.

Dean grabbed Sam and squeezed him. Sam laughed and thumped Dean on the back. “Stop Dee, you are killing me.”

Dean let go and stepped back still smiling but looking at the ground.

Sam walked right up to him, “What’s wrong Dee? You can look at me.”

“I can?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, look at me.” Sam said seriously.

Dean looked up at Sam’s eyes and sighed in relief. It would be OK. He could look at Sam.

“Aren’t you happy to see us?”

“Sammy, I missed you so much.” Dean gently head bopped his little brother.

“Dean, get in the car.” John ordered as he walked to the driver’s side.

Dean ignored him. 

“Why aren’t you talking to Dad?”

“It’s not my name anymore.” Dean whispered.

“What?” Sam whispered back urgently.

“Dean. It’s not my name. My name is Pretty, but other people call me Pret.”

“What are you boys whispering about, Sam, Dean get in the car.”

Sam pulled Dean by the hand and got the two of them into the back seat.

John pulled away with a screech of tyres, followed by Caleb and Jim in the van.

“So boys, what were you whispering?”

Dean stayed silent with his head down leaving Sam to decide what to say.

“He says he has a new name, Dad.”

“Geez Sam, I thought you were the clever one. Dean does not have a new name.”

“He says his name is Pretty.”

John lost control of the wheel for a moment and they swerved across lanes. “I killed him too slow. I should never have shot the sick fuck. I should have taken him slow with a knife.”

Dean turned away so he couldn’t see Sam’s father in the driver’s seat. He rubbed the army man in the door handle with the pad of his index finger.

Sam curled his hand into Dean’s free one and held on as John drove north through the night, cussing and raging.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dawn was breaking when the Impala pulled into Windom.

Sam gently shoved and prodded his brother to get him out of the car. John marched ahead through the front door but Sam pulled Dean by the arm around the side of the house heading for the back door.

“Dee!” Sam said urgently but quietly pausing at the back corner of the building.

Dean looked up into Sam’s eyes. It was Sam. It really actually was Sammy. “Sammy? Where are we?”

Maybe this was one of his nightmares and his master would wake him with soft kisses. It couldn’t be a nightmare though because Sam was holding his hand and looking up at him his face scrunched with worry.

“Minnesota. Before we go in, I need to tell you something. This house belongs to Dad’s girlfriend Kate.”

So what if Sam’s Dad has a girlfriend. Big deal. They had stayed in all kinds of places over the years, none as nice as his home with Master Walter. The sound of Walter screaming echoed in his head and he pulled his hand out of Sam’s to block his ears.

“Dee, Dee, I’m sorry, I know that must be crap to hear, but he didn’t go off looking for a girlfriend while you were missing, honest. Please Dee take your hands away from your ears, it is freaking me out.”

Dean heard Sam tell him to take his hands down so he did, presenting them palm down to Sam, who didn’t seem to understand that he was asking for his mittens. His little brother just grabbed his hands in his and pulled Dean in closer. There was a child crying inside the house.

“We have no time. Dad will come looking. He is not going to let you out of his sight now. He was all over me like a rash for 48 hours when he smuggled me out of Canada.”

“I knew you were in Canada.” Dean said shyly, wanting to duck his head but resisting.

“You did?” Sam sounded surprised.

“Yeah, I used to come watch your soccer practice from the back of the Merc on Thursdays.”

“You telling me it was you in the big black windowed car that had the PTA freaking out? Why didn’t you come and talk to me?”

“Couldn’t. Was kinda attached to the seat. Seeing you was my reward.”

“That’s seriously weird Dee. You have to tell me more, but first I need to tell you something, sorry it’s so quick, I was... I dunno what ... when I found out.”

Dean nodded for Sam to tell him.

“There is a little boy in the house. He’s our brother. Well our half-brother. He is called Adam and he is a snivelling twit, but not so bad.”

Dean had been punched in the gut. The bottom of his world dropped away for the second time that night. He had been replaced.

While he was Pretty. John had Sam and Adam. His new set of two sons. He didn’t know why John had come and ruined his life, was it a lesson, some way to punish him for leaving Sam alone to go and earn some money sucking cock?

There was white noise in his head. He eased into it and let it take him. Holding Sam’s hand he followed his brother, placing one foot in front of the other. 

Outside the back door he could hear a woman asking John to take Dean to the hospital and ask Nurse Trevor from the psych ward to have a look at him. Of course they wouldn’t want a used up dirty stray pet living in their house. If they took him to the hospital he would have to live in a psych ward with mental patients. They might strap him to the bed; he had seen it on General Hospital. He couldn’t be strapped down again. The tremors started to run through his body but Walter’s hands weren’t there to rub him and stroke him until he calmed.  
Dean would have run if Sam hadn’t pulled him in the door.

The adults stopped speaking. Dean didn’t get a good look at the thin blond woman before she pulled him into a hug, “Hello sweetie. I’m Kate. I’m so happy you are safe.”

When she let him go, he looked around panicked for Sam, who was guiding a slim toddler in Elmo PJs over to meet him. “Addy-Adam-ic, this is my Dean.” Sam proudly pronounced.

The little boy wrapped himself around Dean’s leg, “Dee-han, you Sammy’s Batman.”

“Sorry, Dee, I have been using you as bedtime stories. Are you going to say hello to Adam?”

Dean crouched down and smiled at the three year old, “Hi Adam. I’m Sammy’s brother Pret.”

John’s fist crashed into the slats of the kitchen table sending cups flying. Adam screamed and ran to this mother. Sam glared at his father.

John stalked over to Dean who propelled himself backwards on his ass, heels and hands until he was wedged against the fridge.

“You are not Prêt Goodman, You are Dean Winchester. Goddamnit. I killed the bastard. You can stop calling yourself that. You hear me son.”

Dean shook his head and waited for the belt or John’s fist. But John didn’t hit him, when Dean glanced up John had tears running down his face like he used to have when Dean was very little. 

Then Sam and Kate were there and they lifted him up under the shoulders and sat him at the table. Sam gave him a bowl of lucky charms and told him to eat them.

John patted him on the shoulder. Then he and Kate left to put Adam back to bed.

Dean shovelled some cereal into his mouth, not tasting it, not hungry but not knowing what else to do.


	7. Windom

Dean stood in Sam and Adam’s twin bedroom. Sam opened his eyes.

“What Dean? You scared the crap out of me standing there in your PJs.” Sam whispered not to wake Adam.

“Can’t sleep, Sammy.”

“Okkaaay?”

“Will you come into my bed, like we always did? I don’t want to be alone in the strange tiny room.”

Sam sighed, pulled a bitchface, and hauled himself out of bed. He should have known Dean would want to share with him after all that had happened. 

If Sam was sick they shared even if the motel room or apartment had three beds. 

Dean was standing totally still while Sam got his pillow to bring with him. Sam sighed again and caught his big brother’s hand. Dean let Sam lead him back into the box room.

Sam jumped into the narrow bed and Dean followed him. Sam went to turn into the wall, but Dean put his hand on Sam’s arm.

“Please Sam. Can you face this way? I’ll turn around so we aren’t breathing each other’s air. ‘Kay?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sam lay on his side looking at the back of his brother’s head, thinking that his hair looked really soft and kind of long. Then Dean shifted down the mattress so his head was under Sam’s chin and he lay back against his little brother. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean and he could feel his older brother relax against him.

They lay that way for a while, until Dean pushed his back into his little brother. He knew Sam was still awake.  
“Sammy?”

“Huh, go to sleep.”

“Sammy, will you do something else for me?”

“Anything so we can go to sleep.”

“Will you keep holding me until we fall asleep?”

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“And use my name, just while we are on our own.”

“What Dean?” Sam sounded more awake now.

“You know, call me Pretty, just when your father and the Milligans can’t hear us.”

“Why Dean? Why would you want to hear that name again? I can’t call you that. You are my brother. And you know Dad is your dad too, and Adam is our brother.”

“Please, Sam. Please, just when we are alone. Just you, Sam, Please. I need to know you still care about me.... “Dean’s voice broke as he wondered if Sam was so disgusted with him that all his love had drained away like water down a sink hole.

“Don’t cry, please, De-, agh, Pretty. I love you, you douche. I’ll always care about you...Pretty.”

Dean let his muscles relax. It would be alright. He had Sam. He was back with Sammy. He would never let someone take him from Sam again. Sam said he could look at him and he would use his name, and he held him and Sam was rubbing circles into Dean’s back like as if he was ill, and Dean didn’t mind that it was Sam’s small slightly sticky hand and not Walter’s dry large hand. 

“Thanks, Sammy, you are the best.” Dean murmured as he closed his eyes.

“No Pretty, you are the actual best.” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Life wasn’t so bad at the Milligans. Sam and Adam’s Dad disappeared for days at a time on hunts. It was better when he wasn’t there. He missed Master Walter and tried not to see his body full of gore while John stabbed him down there over and over again.

Kate was a decent woman. She had taken two boys into her home, just because John asked her when he crashed back into her life looking for help to steal Sam away from the Grogans.

Dean liked helping around the house, when Kate was at work. She left him in charge of Sam and Adam. Sometimes she called him Pret. He smiled when she remembered his name. She never did it in front of John. 

This morning was the first day of school. 

He was lucky they were going. Last week John had demanded that Dean start training and sparring again. Dean had said nothing but he had backed up against the wall and shook his head until Kate had told John to give the kid a break.

They had a row about Dean, while he was standing there. He heard it all. John wanted his hunter son back. How was Dean supposed to keep Sam safe if he couldn’t fire his sawn off or take down an attacker? 

Kate screamed back at John that the boy needed time to recover and all his training hadn’t worked to keep Dean safe. Then she sucked in a breath at what she had said.

John stood so fast the kitchen chair clattered to the floor. Dean shrank back into the wall trying to disappear as John ranted that Dean was his son and if Kate didn’t like that she could stick her good intentions were the goddamned sun didn’t shine. He was leaving and taking his boys with him.

Dean hadn’t been the only one listening. Sam burst into the kitchen and pleaded with John to let them stay. He cried and asked not to be split up from Adam, and not to take Dean on the road when they had only got him back and let him go to school in Windom.

An act of god must have happened because John relented. Kate apologised for what she had said and John gruffly said that he had been hasty. Sam linked his hand into Dean’s and pulled him out of the kitchen.

Dean was dreading the first day at school. He hated being the new kid. He wasn’t anxious about the course work. Master Roger had been a great tutor. Dean had tested as 9th grade which was a freaking miracle seeing as he had barely attended 7th and 8th grade. Sam had skipped another grade and was starting 7th with AP classes.

Dean poked his head out into the hall. He could hear Sam and Adam downstairs. The coast was clear. He shoved his chair under the door handle and prised away the skirting board by the bottom of the bed and pulled out his treasure.

No one knew about his secret. Although if Sam asked then he would tell him.

He unwrapped his pink Mexico shirt and looked at the things he had managed to save from his suitcase before John had burned it in Kate’s yard.

He stroked his soft pink mittens and rubbed his cheek with them. Putting them down he picked up his old spare butt plug, he needed to get back into wearing it. He regretted the loss of his favourite slim pointed one, but this was the second best, a little wider but easy to wear all day. Finally there was his folder of photos. Just twelve from the last film he got developed in Mexico. There were two of the beach with the stray dogs and one of the pool at sunset. One of him walking Puppy-Jack on his lead around the cabana’s pool. Dean grinned as he remembered the fun they had had in the pool. The last ones were of the night that Walter had taken Pretty to the best restaurant in the resort. It was their four month anniversary. Pretty had been able to use his etiquette classes and knew all the cutlery and glasses at the five star eatery. He had tasted oysters and fillet mignon. There was a photo of them sharing dessert and they were both smiling. Dean wiped away a tear and parcelled his treasures back up. He made sure the board was flush with the wall before he removed the chair. He straightened his plaid button down and threw on the leather jacket that John had given him.

Sam burst into the room. “Ready to go Dee?” He was positively hopping on the spot at the idea of starting school again.

“Sure Sammy, what you got in your hand?”

The boy had his school satchel in his right hand but there was something wrapped in a scrap of shiny paper in his left.

“Is a present for you, for starting school, ‘cause we’ll be in different classes and I won’t see you till recess.”

Dean laughed but he was really frigging touched that Sammy would give him something from him to carry around.

Sam passed over the parcel. It was very light and when Dean opened it, he saw a long leather cord.

“Thanks Sammy, Is it for around my wrist?” Dean started to twist it into a bracelet.

“No Silly.” Sam pulled the cord out from between Dean’s fingers and took down the mother of pearl box from the top of the chest of drawers, “It’s for your amulet. I want to see you wearing it again. You know, I gave it to you, and you kept it... so you know...”

Dean hugged Sammy tight. “I know, Sam, I know. Will you put it on me?”

“You’re too tall.”

“Ha, squirt, I can fix that,” Dean dropped to his knees and closed his eyes as Sam put the re-strung amulet around his neck. A little bit of him felt guilty and ashamed for taking a different kind of satisfaction from kneeling before Sam and having him place the cord around his neck.

“That’s better,” Sam announced, “You look good.”

“Good,” Dean agreed, and it did feel good to have the familiar bounce of the horned head against his chest as they walked the few blocks to their new school.

At registration the Winchesters were summoned to the Principal’s office and told that Kate Milligan was a good friend of hers and they could come to her office if they had any issues settling in.

The principal let Sam go to his first period, but she kept Dean in the office until he was introduced to the school counsellor, Mrs Allen. All because Nurse Kate Milligan, had stuck her interfering nose in to have a private word with the principal about Dean’s trauma. He had two periods of counselling on his school schedule and an extra module of math to help him catch up. Master Roger hadn’t covered math, but it had always been Dean’s best subject. 

Finally he got to first period history. He knocked on the door and entered. There were about thirty kids. They all stared at him. He dropped his head.

“Mr Winchester, I presume. I’m Cathy Steelton.”

Dean looked at the teacher. She was young for a teacher. Black hair pulled tight in a bun and a dark navy pant-suit. He dropped his eyes again and stood in front of the class. He knew the new kid ritual. He hoped he wouldn’t have to make a speech.

“Class, this is the new freshman, Dean Winchester. He is Nurse Milligan’s stepson. I am sure you’ll make him welcome. You have a brother starting today with you Dean?”

“Yes Ma’m, Sam is in 7th grade.”

“Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?”

Dean kept his head down but his voice was clear, “Hi. Please call me Pret.”

“Brett?” Miss Steelton asked, “I thought you were Dean.” She checked her notes.

“Yeah, but my name is Pret.”

“I’m afraid we don’t do nicknames in class, Dean. Even Jimbob Thornton is James here.”

The class tittered and a sandy haired farm boy blushed in the front row. Dean decided that he didn’t like Cathy Steelton very much and that if Jimbob wanted to be called Jimbob that is what Dean would call him.

He had double Math with lanky greasy haired Mr McDermott, who seemed to know how to talk Math to teenagers.

Then it was recess. He found Sam waiting for him by the vending machines.

“Hey Dean. Was it OK? Do you like the school? I do. I really do. You know they have a soccer team, so I’m taking Phys Ed to get a place on the team. I get three other electives cos am in 7th Grade, so I picked Advanced Math, American Lit and Latin. What did you pick?” Sam handed his brother a Snickers. 

“The school’s fine I guess. I picked Non-native Spanish, Photography, American Lit and Family Science.”

Sam huffed out a breath, “Prêt, Dad is going be pissed. You always take Metal Tech, Wood Tech, and Phys Ed.”

Dean looked at Sam, “Just because Dean took them doesn’t mean I have to. You said I could choose what I wanted. The principal said so too. I want to keep them.” He bit his tongue and waited eyeing Sam to see if he would comment on referring to Dean as a different person.

Sam just sighed, “It’s ok. Dad will try and tell you to change them, but if that’s what you want they are some cool choices.”

Dean beamed, “Thanks Sam.”

“So why’d you pick ‘em, Prêt?”

“I can speak Spanish, you know, like Mexican Spanish, after spending the summer there. I had a really awesome camera there too. Got some great shots of the ocean. My tutor had me read lots of literature and we would critique them together. He thought I had a real talent for it.”

“Wow, Dean. I mean, Prêt, sorry.”

“’S Okay, Sammy.”

“I mean it. Wow. Why the family science?”

“I can cook.”

“No you can’t.” Sam laughed. “You can empty a can and rehydrate noodles. I miss your microwave tomato pasta.”

“No, Sam. I can cook and bake. I learned real Mexican food from our personal chef and I make a mean four layer cake and frigging brilliant pie.”

“You don’t, liar!”

Dean put his head down, “Not lying. I don’t lie to you Sam.”

“God De... Pret. My big mouth. Sorry bro. I was joshing you. I know you don’t. I can’t wait to taste your pies. Bet they are awesome. You always were a pie-expert.”

Dean blushed and Sam was embarrassed that he made his brother blush in the school corridor. 

“So Prêt, did you get your schedule? Do we have the same American Lit teacher? Cos my teacher is so cool. He turned up in slacks and a brown sweater. Mr White is new, like my math teacher. But get this, he just moved to Windom with his gay partner! And he told us all, so he said that the town wouldn’t be filled with rumours. He is way cool and he gave us The Pearl by Steinbeck to have read by next Monday, cos it is very short and we all should be able to read a book by Monday or we should not have taken his class.”

“Mr White? I have him after break. He gave you The Pearl?” Dean’s heart skipped. No way could it be Master Roger. He was in Chicago.

“Yeah, and I will so have it read by tomorrow, unless Dad makes me train tonight. Mr Montgomery the new math teacher is scary strict. Monica says that the old teacher was a breeze. Mr Montgomery singled me out after class and told me he expects great things from me. Wasn’t that weird, Dee?”

“He probably saw your freakishly high test scores, brainiac.”

Sam punched Dean in the arm, “Jerk.”

“Bitch and the name is Pretty not Jerk.”

Sam gave a false laugh but Dean could see he had upset Sam.

“Sorry Sammy.”

Sam huffed at him, “I’m OK. Let me tell you about Rachel Nave. She is new too and she sat next to me in Social Science and Biology. She has actual blond hair and I think she liked me.”

“Go Sammy!”

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

A copy of The Pearl lay on each empty twin-desk of the American Literature Classroom when Dean arrived.

He took the vacant seat next to James Thornton, unable to stop his nose wrinkling at the faint whiff of manure from the teen. He wasn’t going to be judgemental and turned holding out his hand.

“Jimbob, I’m Pret.”

The boy looked astonished that anyone had even sat next to him, “Hi Pret. Welcome to Windom.”

“So you take American Lit before?”

“Yeah. I read a lot when I’m monitoring the pigs. The last teacher was Mrs Haussmann. She was killed in the crash with the old Middle School Math teacher... their throats were slashed in the wreck.” Jimbob’s eyes bulged as he spoke about the accident and Dean wondered if the smell was the only reason Jimbob seemed to be left alone.

“Jeez. That’s gory. When did that happen?”

Jimbob didn’t answer because the door swung open and Master Roger White walked into the classroom.

Dean thought he might just expire from disbelief and shock.

He barely heard the lesson, and when it was his turn to read he spoke the words automatically. 

When the lesson ended the others filed out, Jimbob poking him with his black fingernails to try and get him to follow.

Dean sat at the desk staring at the page in front of him as the letters swarmed and re-arranged themselves into nonsense. His life made no sense.

Roger locked the door and came to kneel beside Dean.

That shocked Dean “Master Roger, you can’t kneel next to me. You’re a master.”

“Hey Dean. I am so happy to see you.”

Dean’s eyes leaked, “Master Walter is... he’s dead... Master Roger... I saw it all... he was screaming and I tried to stop him but he killed my master... No one else understands... I don’t know what I’m meant to do.”

“Here darling,” Roger moved into Jimbob’s vacant space and put an arm around Dean’s shoulder. “Will you listen while I tell you a story?”

Dean nodded and let his body relax.

“I know about Walter. Jack and I were at his funeral. Afterwards there was reading of Walter’s will. As expected he left his businesses to his uncles. He left me a bequest and a request in his will. He bequeathed me enough money to set myself up with a home and a nest egg wherever I want. The lawyers said there was no legal requirement on me to fulfil the request part of my legacy. The request was to look out for his Pretty, who he intended to change his will in favour of when Pretty would be 18, and there is a bank account for you, in your real name, with me as trustee until that time. I didn’t know where you had been taken to and we had our own problems. Jack was photographed with me in the Chicago Tribune at the funeral. His parents confronted him and he explained his lifestyle to them. They kicked him out and refused to pay his continued education. The bequest I received would not cover a university unfortunately but Jack decided to make a permanent commitment to me and I granted him his collar.”

“You did?” Dean interrupted, “wow that is amazing, Jack is so lucky.”

“Thank you Dean, I think I am the lucky one. Jack was really content with my collar, but he was uneasy to remain in Chicago. A friend in the scene found out for me that you and your brother had been registered to start in Windom High. I checked with the Minnesota Education Department and found out about the accident that killed the teachers and that the English and Literature vacancy had not been filled. They were quite desperate as term was approaching, and I applied immediately. Jack found us a cute farmstead rental while we decide if we want to settle here. I am starting up a new version of my after school library club, and I would love if you would attend. We will visit the town library were Jack has picked up a part-time job. Jack is dying to see you, he has missed you so much.”

“I missed him too.” Dean admitted.

“You had better go now Dean, you are late for your next class. Hang on a moment and I will give you a hall pass.”

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sam burst into the bathroom on Saturday morning. He had made the team and was playing on the wing for the Windom High Soccer Team.  
Dean was in the shower. He had the shower hose pulled all the way out from the wall and it looked like he was spraying the water up his butt.

“Dean. What are you doing?”

“Dude! Knock on the door!” Dean kept hosing himself out.

“Dean” Sam hissed. “Pretty, what are you doing to yourself?”

“Gotta be ready, Sammy.”

“What does that mean? Tell me.”

Dean stuck two fingers in his asshole, while Sam watched wide-eyed. He smiled as he bent down and picked up his secret butt plug from the shower tray and squatted to work it until it disappeared inside him.

Sam didn’t know where to look or what to say.

Dean stepped out of the shower wrapping a towel around his waist. He kissed the top of Sam’s head as he walked out of the bathroom. “I just need to have it, Sammy.”

“Wait Dean, Dean!”

Sam followed his brother back into his/their bedroom.

“What squirt?” Dean grinned.

“Take off the towel Dean.”

“Sammy, be OK about this, please.” Dean pleaded hopefully.

“Towel, Off. Now.” Sam commanded.

Dean dropped the towel to the ground.

“What. Is. That?” Sam pointed at the tattoo.

“Oh.” Dean blushed.

“Pretty? What is that?” Sam repeated.

“It’s a ‘W’ inside an ‘O’. It’s a tattoo.” Dean explained calmly.

“What does it mean?” Sam touched the tattoo with his index finger.

“The O is for owner and the W is for Walter.” Dean said quietly.

“”How dare he? How dare that man take you away from me? How dare he make you put that on your body?” Sam was crying, tears of anger mostly.

Dean picked up the towel and wrapped it back around his waist, “All gone now, Sammy, all covered up.”

“But it’s not gone. It is there forever. You know the lecture Dad gave us about tats. About all the old marines with fugly tattoos that they were sorry they had got. I wish I could wash it off with the stuff Dad uses on his hands after he works on the Impala engine.”

“Shush Sammy, don’t be so upset. I’m not upset. It hurt like a bitch getting it done and the creepy tat-artist in Cancun didn’t speak English but kept cursing in Spanish as he did it. But you know it is part of me. We can’t just erase the last six months. I lived them.”

“I know, Dee, but I wish I could for you. I wish I had never gone to the stupid museum sleepover and left you alone. I’m so sorry.” Tears continued to leak and Sam took a gasping breath.

Dean moved over to stand closer to his little brother. He wasn’t sure if Sammy wanted to be touched so he just got real close. “Gosh, Sammy, It is not your fault. None of this is down to you. I realised while I was away that it wasn’t my fault either. John was the one who left us with nothing to eat.” 

“Dean, it wasn’t Dad’s fault either. It was that man.”

“Sam!” Kate’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs, “Come down. You don’t want to be late for your first match.”

Sam dried his eyes with the back of his hand and leaned in to give his brother a quick hug, “See you at the game?”

“Wouldn’t miss it, bitch.”

Sam was a fantastic soccer player. Dean knew this from before and from the glimpses of training in Chicago. The Windom Eagles beat the crap out of the 1992 state champions from Apple Valley High. The score was only 1- 0, but a cross from Sam had made the goal, and he was carried high on his teammates shoulders with the goal scorer as they left the field.

During half time, Dean had been kissed by Andy Hurley under the bleachers. The sophomore had pulled him into his hiding space as Dean had stretched his legs.

The older boy was all hands and then all tongues. Dean took the kiss and tried to return it, but Andy was all spit and sweat. Andy whispered how hot Dean would look in his sister Rhonda’s panties. Dean jerked away and fled, resolving never to get within ten feet of Andy and Rhonda Hurley again.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

September 29th 1994 was Adam Milligan’s fourth birthday.  
Kate woke late still tired from the graveyard shift she had pulled at Windom Hospital to ensure she had the day off for her little boy’s special day. John stirred beside her in the bed. She looked down at his scruffy cheeks and wondered how she had ever let that man turn her life inside out twice. 

John had stumbled home and into their bed at two am, waking her with his freezing feet, and mumbling about a kitsune. She was just glad he had made it back for Adam’s party.

Kate was greeted by a sweet bakery smell at the top of the stairs. She checked Adam’s room and could see her birthday boy’s head poking out from under his Batman covers. The other bed, Sam’s official bed, was untouched. She stuck her head into the box room. Sam was wrapped in the blue gingham sheets alone.

When she got to the kitchen Dean/Prêt was humming something to himself. He was dabbing John’s blood stained jacket with soda over the sink and she could see two cakes rising in the oven. The boy was stunning. He would grow into a handsome man, she was sure of it. She could hardly believe he was her John’s son. She paused not wanting to interrupt this moment. He lifted his head from the sink and tilted his face into the early morning sunlight. 

Then he noticed her and the moment faded. He lowered his head and said “Good morning Kate” to his feet.

“Good morning Dean, what are you up to?” John was home, therefore it was important to remember not to call him Pret.

“I hope you don’t mind, I know I didn’t ask if I could. I don’t have a gift for Adam so I baked pumpkin cake and there is a can of spray cream in the cabinet that we can use to sandwich the cakes together. I could make a cream cheese frosting, or a ganache to top it?” He asked hopefully.

Kate thought her heart might break over this boy. How could John not see how fragile and special he was? 

She knew that she had no concept of what Dean had been like before his ordeal. John called him a fine hunter in the making but Sam spoke of mac’n’cheese and packed lunches and Dean teaching him to read and putting band aids on his scrapes. Surely this was the same boy, more Sam’s caregiver than she would ever be, or even try to be.

“I think a cream cheese frosting sounds excellent. Do we have enough confectioners’ sugar?”

“Yes, ma’m. I checked while I was waiting for the cake to bake. Then I saw John’s jacket and I wanted to get the stains out. Is that OK?” Dean looked at the jacket in his hands.

“You don’t have to ask me things like that. This is your home too. I’m very happy to get your help.”

Dean briefly raised his eyes and smiled at her. “Thanks.”

The oven beeped and Dean donned the oven mitts. For a moment she thought he had phased out as he raised his glove covered hands in front of his face and gave a short hitching sob. Before she could react he was pulling the cakes out of the oven and laying the tins upside down on clean cloths.

“They have to cool before we can cover it with frosting. Would you like me to make you a coffee? I’m going to make waffles for Sam. You can have some too.”

“Thanks dear. I am going to take a shower and start getting ready for the party. I think all the kindergarten is coming. Waffles would be great. Can you do one for Adam too?”

“Sure thing. I’ll just bring Sam up a juice first.”

Kate made her way up to the shower, glad to get there before the four male residents. 

As she made her way quietly back to the master bedroom, she could have sworn she heard Sam’s voice saying, “Put a ganache on it. I wanna try that, Pretty.” 

She shook her head to clear her ears.

Later that day Dean emerged triumphant to a host of four year olds bearing the cake with candles. She saw the birthday cake gleaming with shining ganache. 

Adam’s squeal of joy and John’s stunned expression as her son shouted, “Prêt is the bestest brother”, distracted her until later that night when she could take a moment for herself. She resolved to pay closer attention to the dynamic between Sam and Dean.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Halloween 1994  
John leaned back in the chair with a beer in his hand, as he paused from updating his journal. Sam had taken Adam trick or treating with the Nave girls. Dean was in his bedroom playing Led Zeppelin. For a moment John could almost imagine that things were alright.

Kate came in from her shift in the hospital, “Hey John. Thought you might have work tonight?”

John pulled her in for a hug, “Naw Katie, I might do a cruise around the town once Sam and Adam are back.”

“I surprised you didn’t accompany them.” Kate didn’t sound annoyed about it, just curious as she went to the fridge and got a can of soda.

“They have four Nave girls surrounding them. Sam rang from Mrs Nave’s to say they had been asked to stay for some dinner. Mr Nave will drop them back in an hour.”

John looked up. Dean was standing silently in the kitchen doorway looking at his boots.

“Come in, frigging Hell, Dean. You don’t have to just stand there.”

Dean shuffled around him and went to the sink, taking a clean glass and filling it with tap water. Then he went to go back upstairs.

“Wait, Dean” John called. Dean stopped but he didn’t turn around. “Do you want to have a beer with me?”

“John!” Kate chided, “He is fifteen.”

Dean shook his head and continued back to his room.

“Damn.” John clenched his fists. “How can a few months with a monster erase fifteen years of family?”

“John, you need to give him time.” Kate tried to reason, “He is doing better. He looks Sam in the eye, and I saw him joking with his friend Jack in the library.”

“Don’t you think it is strange that his only friend is an eighteen year old library assistant?”

“No, John. Jack is a gentle young man. I’ve met him when he has called for Dean, and in the library.”

“You don’t think they are? You know? Dean and Jack?” John curled his two index fingers and linked them, gesturing ‘togehter’.

“John, really?” Kate threw her eyes back, “Jack has a boyfriend. A partner, I should say. One of the boys’ teachers, Roger White.”

“Oh, still I don’t like it. I want Dean to start looking at girls again. I remember catching him in the backseat of the Impala with a girl more than once, and he was crushed when he had to leave his girl Cherry in Houston. Maybe we should get back on the road.”

“You shut your mouth, John Winchester. You need to give Dean a chance here.”

“A chance, Kate, he has had enough time being treated like he’s wrapped in cotton wool. He needs to man up and be a soldier.” John’s volume had gone up and before Kate could process it, the man had stood up and marched to the bottom of the stairs. 

“Dean, Dean,” He bellowed, “Get your sorry ass back down here. Dean Winchester, do not make me come up there and drag you down.”

Dean appeared at the top of the stairs his face as white as the tee he was wearing. 

“Down here now.” John pointed at the floor beside him with his finger.

Dean threw himself down the stairs so fast; Kate thought he was going to land head first.

As John roared at Dean that he was taking him on a hunt, Dean sank to his knees where John had been pointing. The words dried on John’s lips as Dean pressed his forehead into the ground and placed his hands flat on either side of his head.

“Dean, get up. Stand up like a man. What are you doing down there. Stand the hell up, Dean,” John kicked him in the side but held back on the impact. He only wanted to jolt his son into standing. 

Dean didn’t move a muscle but Kate flew in between the Winchesters. 

“Get out John. Get out now and go on your Halloween scout or hunt or whatever and don’t come back until you have calmed the freaking hell down.” Kate didn’t raise her voice but she drove home her message, pointing her finger at the front door and staring daggers at her son’s father.

John grabbed his coat and his duffel and slammed the door on his way out. Kate heard the rumble of the Impala leaving and turned her attention to the boy shivering by her knees. She bent her ear down straining to hear Dean as he repeated, “Not again, not again.”

“Hey Dean, Dean? You can get up now, come on Dean.”

The trembling ceased but the boy wouldn’t move. 

Kate sighed and sat on the bottom step of the stairs, “Prêt, darling, are you afraid you will be beaten, did Goodman beat on you?”

She heard a mumbled “No.”

She risked laying a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Then why are you saying Not Again.”

Dean lifted his body and knelt back on his thighs. He put his hands flat on his lap and looked at them. “Walter never beat me. It was Sam’s Dad, before Walter. Walter saved me from him.”

Kate was stopped from making a strained effort to defend John having just witnessed him kick his son on the ground because the back door slammed. Adam appeared peeling with laughter being chased by Sam. Adam ran passed Kate and up the stairs, blind to the scene in the hall, screeching that he had more candy than Sam.

Sam however stopped dead at the sight of Dean kneeling before Kate.

“What is going on here?” The young boy’s tone was firm and demanded answers.

Dean looked up at his eleven year old brother. 

Kate smiled at Sam “We are alright now. John wanted to take Dean on a hunt and we had a bit of an incident.”

Sam looked at Dean, “Did he hurt you?”

Kate considered the nature of the man she had let back into her home, when that was the first question on the child’s lips.

Dean nodded.

“Show me Pretty.”

Kate sucked in a breath. Sam glared at her challenging her to say something. She saw something dark, something predatory in those eyes, and wondered if she was worried about the wrong Winchester.

Dean lifted up his tee and showed Sam the mark from John’s boot.

Sam bent down and kissed it.

“All better now, Pretty?”

Dean smiled, “All better now Sammy.”

“Dean can I look? You might have cracked rib.” Kate asked, kicking herself for not thinking of that sooner.

“Dean is not going to the hospital. I’ll take care of him.” Sam glared at her and reached down into Dean’s lap for his left hand. Dean grasped his little brother’s palm and let him lead him up the stairs to their room.

Kate trailed after them. She paused in the hall as Sam got Dean to sit on the bed as he eased the tee off. Sam went to the bathroom and returned with a cold cloth. He got Dean to lie flat on the bed and gently pressed the cool flannel to the boot mark.

“Stay there now, Pretty; you rest while I get you some of my candy.”

Kate followed Sam down to the kitchen. Sam ignored her while he chose Dean’s favorite treats from his Halloween haul.

“Sam?”

The child looked up at her.

“I won’t tell John.”

Sam nodded and left her standing there.

Kate wondered if she should talk to someone in the mental health department of the hospital. She had tried to persuade John to take Dean to a psychiatrist when he rescued the boy, but John had rallied against shrinks and how they would take Dean away from them.

Maybe she could talk in confidence to one of her colleagues about how to help the boys and her worries about the way they acted with each other. She thought she would speak with Trevor once he was back from vacation. Her decision didn’t ease her anxiety but she put it aside and went to find Adam before he got face paint all over his bed linen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and leaving your comments and kudos.  
> Much appreciated.


	8. Things change and things remain the same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never been to Windom. I am sure it is a fine town with a great school. My Windom High is combination of google-facts and my own imagination. I doubt they have Latin on the school curriculum, but maybe they do, and I have borrowed their soccer team name for my story.

By Christmas the ice in Kate and John’s relationship rivalled that on the Minnesota highways. 

Kate took Adam to her mother’s for the season.

John drove Sam and Dean the hour to Blue Earth and summarily dumped them on Pastor Jim. Then he disappeared to Florida for two weeks chasing a selkie.

In Blue Earth, Pastor Jim was delighted to have the boys. They helped him decorate the church and Dean even sat still through the midnight mass on Christmas Eve and the first service on Christmas morning. 

After the third and final Christmas mass, Sam and Jim came into the pastoral house to a feast of roast goose with all the trimmings prepared by a very smug looking Dean.

On the 26th Sam helped Jim clean his weaponry while Dean was collected by his friend Jack to spend the day.

“So Prêt, tell me did you have a good Christmas Day?” Jack asked as they drove back to the farmstead house that Roger was renting outside Windom.

“Yeah Jack, It was real good. Kate phoned when I was cooking and put Adam on the phone. He was so excited about Santa Claus that he could hardly speak. Sam loved the goose.”

“That’s great. I got to play Puppy all day. It was awesome.” Jack’s eyes glowed as he took the turning for home. “You thought any about looking for a new master?”

“Nah, Jack. I don’t need one. I have Sammy.”

“Prêt, you do know you are talking about your eleven year old brother here?”

“Yeah, so what? I’m not going to do to anything to him, fuck sake, Jack, what do you think I am? I wouldn’t touch Sammy.”

“Unless he told you to?” Jack stated.

“Stop, please, Jack. You don’t understand. Sam and me, we have always taken care of each other. Just the two of us. I can look at Sam and he knows what I need.”

“Sounds to me like you think he is your master.”

Their conversation ended as they arrived at the farmhouse. Roger came to the car to greet them. They had a very enjoyable day, eating leftovers, watching a new gay d/s porno, and Prêt got to take Puppy for a walk around the barn yard behind the house. 

Roger drove him back to Blue Earth, having settled Puppy into his man-sized dog bed for a much needed nap.

“Dean.” Roger said as they pulled up outside the church.

“Yes Master Roger.”

“I know Jack talked to you on your journey this morning. You need to decide what you want, son. Do you want to be Dean or Pretty? Prêt is a compromise at best, a half life.”

“I know, but it is hard Master Roger, how can I decide?” Dean looked down and examined his fingernails.

“It is the sub’s decision to enter into a contract. I know Walter made that choice for you Dean, but in future the choice will be yours. If Jack ever decides to move on, it will break my sorry heart but I will let him go. You have your life in front of you and it is your decision.”

Dean swung his legs out of the car and Roger told him he would see him in school, “Dean if you are finding it too hard, why don’t you ask Mini-Master Sam what he wants?”

Dean could barely eat the burgers and fries that Pastor Jim gave them. He sat on the sofa pretending to read Slaughterhouse Five.

His thoughts were all jumbled up. He couldn’t straighten them out. He desperately wanted Walter to put him to bed and slip his pink mittens around his hands and tell him what to do.

He felt like a dumbass for considering his eleven year old brother his master. He felt guilt burn like acid in his gut at the burden he had unintentionally placed on his little brother’s shoulders. He felt wretched for only thinking of his own needs and happiness, not looking at what would please Sam, what Sam wanted him to do.

He was a bad sub, a bad self-centred sub, abusing Sammy’s trust.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Sam was worried about Dean. 

He worried about Dean a lot, in bed at night as he held his trembling brother, in the morning when Dean took too long in the shower, at school where Dean’s bowed head created an impenetrable shield of personal space against the other students, at the Milligans’ where John’s blunt attempts at goading Dean hurt like knives.

Dean had barely said two words since he came back from Jack and Roger’s. 

He wasn’t in bed when Sam woke up.

He didn’t come in to help de-wax the church candlesticks, a job they had previously done for Pastor Jim, and used to end with a candlestick light-sabre fight.

It was snowing and Dean was not in the house.

Sam found Dean crouched under Mrs Penitence McRae’s gravestone. He was blue with the cold and wearing only his lined flannel shirt over his normal gear.

“Pretty?” Sam asked tentatively as he came around to stand next to him.

Dean didn’t look up.

“Pretty, come on Dean, you know you don’t have to hide from me.”

“Sorry, Sam, I’m sorry,” Dean sounded all choked up and Sam’s heart twisted in pain.

Sam slumped down to rest against the adjoining grave marker of Mr Eldritch McRae.

“Why are you sorry? What could you possibly be sorry for?”

“I’ve been bad. I’ve asked you for things that I shouldn’t” Dean whispered just loud enough for Sam to hear.

“What Dean? What are you talking about?” Sam threw his spindly limbs around his brother and pressed into him, “Dean! You are freezing. Why did you come out without a coat and gloves?”

Dean breathed apologies into Sam’s shoulder and promised not to do it again.

Sam caught one of Dean’s icy hands and rubbed it between his own. “Dean... Pretty... what is up with you?”

Dean looked up, “Do you want to call me Pretty?”

“Dunno,” Sam replied as he started on Dean’s other hand, “I don’t mind if it makes you happy.”

“No Sammy.” 

Sam locked eyes with his older brother who asked, “What do you want to call me, Sam?”

“I dunno, Dean, I guess.” Sam looked up at the falling snow.

“OK”

“OK? Dean?”

“Yep. OK. Do you have a name for when we are alone?”

“You mean like Pretty and Prêt?”

“Uh huh” Dean nodded looking more animated than moments before.

“Dee. Only I get to call you Dee.”

“It was your first word, you know Sammy.” Dean laughed, “Of course I said nothing back to you. I didn’t talk then. You drove Dad crazy going DeeDeeDeeDeeDeeDee.”

“What you mean you didn’t talk, Dee?”

“You were too small to remember I guess. I didn’t talk for two years after the fire. I had to in the end to answer all your crazy toddler questions.”

“You never told me that, why does no-one ever tell me anything?” Sam’s whole face transformed into one of his angry bitchfaces.

Dean replied simply, “Ask me and I’ll tell you.”

Sam thought for a moment and took the brief pause to calm himself, “Why did you change your mind about your name now?”

“I want you to be happy, Sammy, I knew you weren’t comfortable calling me Pretty, I’m sorry I put all my crap on you.”

“Hey, don’t sweat yourself Jerk.”

“Too cold for that Bitch.” 

They both grinned.

“Dee, why you telling me this?”

“Sometimes I need... to be.. you know... told what to do.”

“Dean! Dad does that to us all the frigging time.”

“Mmmm” Dean looked like he was thinking.

“I can do that though, Dee, if you need me too. I’d like to.”

“You would? You’re not just saying that Sammy to make me happy?”

“Jeez, Dee. Telling my almost 16 year old brother what to do! Awesome.”

“I am not doing your homework, dude.”

Sam pulled Dean to his feet, “It’s too cold, we need to bring in some wood and set a fire for Pastor Jim.”

The brothers walked side by side to the log pile and took three blocks each to the sitting room.

Dean got the blaze going while Sam made peanut butter banana sandwiches.

They ate while Sam toasted his toes on the brass fender.

“Dean?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Never a good thing.”

“Shut up. I think it’s like some things that Rachel and Mr Monty have said.”

“What things?” Dean sounded interested.

“Well, Rachel and me. We were in history and Willard asked the teacher why all the German people just did what Hitler said. Mrs McIntyre said it was because they were afraid of him. But Rachel said that some people need to be told what to do and other people are destined to tell them what to do.”

“Dude, did you seriously just compare me to a Nazi and yourself to Hitler?”

“Nah, Dee, I didn’t say I agreed with Rachel.”

“So what did Monty Math Monster say?”

“I love it, he is not even your teacher and you know his nickname. The others don’t like him.”

“Not surprised. Even Roger says he is a tyrant in the teachers’ staff room.”

“I think he is cool. He says I could be a mathlete in Senior High. He said...” Sam did air quotes, “that I have ‘leadership qualities’, so there.”

“He did not? Really Sammy?”

“His actual words were that one day I could be a leader amongst men. He is deadly; I don’t know why the others are so scared of him.”

Dean didn’t like it. His rusty hunter spidy-senses were pinging. He thought he might accidently spill some Holy Water on Mr Monty.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

It wasn’t as easy as someone might think to isolate a teacher and splash him with holy water, even harder if the person doing the splashing wasn’t one of their students.

Dean started carrying a tiny squeezable bottle of holy water in his pocket from the day they returned to school after the Christmas break.

There was nothing obviously suspicious about Mr Montgomery, except that he kept keeping Sam back after class telling him weird stuff about his potential.

Dean had Mr Montgomery’s schedule memorised. He had discovered from sneaky questions to Roger that the math teacher had a free period after first recess and often left the staff room earlier than necessary to be in plenty of time for his next class, which was Sam’s year. 

On 23rd January, Sam and the rest of the soccer team were due back from an overnight trip to a high school tournament in Duluth.

Ten minutes before the end of history, Dean raised his hand and got a hall pass from Catty Cathy Steelton.

He walked slowly to the restrooms near Sam’s classroom.

Bonanza! 

There was Mr Montgomery walking as if he was in another world, unaware of Dean until he stumbled and fell against him, squirting his water as he did.

All the water landed on the grey plaid suit, except a single drop which fizzled like hydrogen peroxide on the hairy back of his hand.

Dean muttered apologies, patted down the suit and attempted to back away.

His upper arm was caught in a vice like grip and he was tugged into the supply closet.

Montgomery wrapped his hand around Dean’s throat and lifted him up against the wall. 

Dean gasped for breath as the demon’s black eyes moved in so that their noses were almost touching.

“You worthless piece of scum, Winchester. I should just snap your neck and be done with you. But we have our orders, and you seem to be doing a good enough job of taking yourself out of commission, at least you were until recently.”

The demon released him. 

Dean fell to the floor knocking over the mops and brushes. Trying to remember his yogic breathing to get enough air back in his lungs, he looked up as the demon paused in the doorway and sneered back, “Every king needs a well trained consort.”

What the fuck did that mean? 

Once he was sure the demon was gone, Dean took to his feet and ran the twenty minute walk home in under 6 minutes, his feet pounding the pavement and his amulet swinging wildly.

He burst into the sitting room where John was still asleep on the sofa surrounded by beer cans.

“Dad! John! Dad, wake up. Wake up!”

John opened his bleary eyes.

“Demon, At the school, black eyes, one of Sam’s teachers.”

John leaped to attention and pointed up the stairs, “Pack the duffels, Dean, now.”

Dean ran for the stairs as John picked up the keys to the Impala.

“Are you going to take it down Dad?” Dean paused mid way up the stairs.

“No, we don’t know how many demons there are. I’m going to the hospital to tell Kate we are leaving. Salt the door after me.” John called back from the door.

“Aren’t we taking them too? They might not be safe.”

John turned fully around to face his son, “Dean, the only thing that demon is interested in is Sam. We will pick him up from the bus. What time is the team due back? Before the end of the school day?”

“Yeah around last period, three or so.”

John slammed the door after himself.

Dean salted the doors and then set to packing John’s duffel first. It was the easiest, as John had barely unpacked from the last hunt. He just checked the laundry for anything else John might need.

Then he grabbed his treasures and wrapped the pink shirt inside a sponge bag to pack it. He couldn’t decide what Sam would want to take and want to leave behind. Finally he reduced his own items to the bare essentials and added some of Sam’s things to his own bag. 

He took a moment to write a thank you letter to Kate. He pulled a photo of them at Adam’s birthday out of its frame and unpacked a little, to slip it in with his Mexico ones. He added a P.S. to the note asking Kate to forgive him for stealing the picture.

Dean was sitting on the last step of the stairs with the duffels at his feet when John arrived back with Adam.

“Dean call that Suzie Van Gogh or whatever that girl’s name is and get her over her to sit with your brother until Kate gets home.” John ordered.

There was no point in arguing with John when he was on mission.

Dean got Susie Van Dyke’s number from the fridge and asked her to come over, that they had a family emergency.

John loaded the car while Dean sat on the floor, rocking a sleepy Adam.

“Watch Elmo with Addy-Adam, Dee-han?” Adam asked twisting his head around.

“Not now, Adam. Suzie will be here soon, she will watch it with you.” Dean promised.

“Won’t. Suzie not like Elmo. Elmo is the best. Watch with me now!” 

Dean was rescued by Susie’s arrival. He handed over the boy, stopping to kiss his forehead. He wondered if he would ever see him again.

Dean and John sat silently in the Impala outside the main door of the school. A small crowd of students and teachers gathered to meet the team who had been runners up in the tournament. Rachel Nave and her sisters were sitting on the wall close to the designated bus parking spot. Mr Montgomery appeared briefly at the window of the teachers’ staff room. 

Dean wished he could duck into the school to empty his and Sam’s lockers, and find Roger to say goodbye, but getting Sam away from Windom was priority.

The bus pulled in to a chorus of “Eagles, Eagles, Go Windom Eagles.”

Dean ran from the Impala as the bus doors opened. Sam was fourth off the bus, raising his silver team-medal above his head and beaming at Dean. 

Dean could see Rachel Nave making her way closer from the other side of the bus and waving at Sam. He didn’t have the time waste with Rachel and her crush on Sam. He was sorry for his brother that he wasn’t going to get the chance to say goodbye to Rachel, or Willard, or their half brother, but it wasn’t the first town they had skipped without the chance for farewells.

Dean jerked his thumb at John sitting in the driver’s seat of the Impala. Sam’s face paled and he walked silently over and got into the back of the Chevy. When he saw the duffels piled behind Dean’s seat he put his coat over his head and refused to talk to either of the other Winchesters as they left Minnesota behind.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Bobby Singer was considering calling John Winchester. 

He lifted his cap briefly to scratch his hair.

He leaned against the dodge that he was reconditioning for a guy from Sioux Falls.

Last August two teachers from Windom High had died in a suspicious accident where both had managed to get their throats slashed. Bobby had considered investigating but Bill Harvelle had called with a suspected Woman in White and Bobby had helped him out instead.

Last week Bobby had gone to Windom to pick up a salvage tow and while there he had picked up the local newsletter. Cattle mutilations, page 5, had taken his interest, but as yet there wasn’t enough data to conclude the town warranted investigation.

While Bobby ate his toast earlier that morning his mind had travelled back exactly 10 years to 23rd January 1985. 

He had helped his new acquaintance John Winchester to salt and burn a vengeful spirit in Des Moines. John had invited him back to his motel room for a celebratory beer before he drove home. 

Bobby didn’t condone drunk driving, he had dealt with enough wrecks to put him off the idea for life, but he felt he should toast a successful hunt.

The last thing Bobby expected to find in a Des Moines motel room was a dirty silent boy and a naked toddler sleeping wrapped in blankets.

To his eternal shame, Bobby had stood in disconnected shock, as the other hunted bawled out the silent wide-eyed boy for not taking care of the baby.

The little boy stood quivering in the face of the man’s wrath and then turned over an empty diaper box and shook it. The toddler started to cry and John turned his back on the boy to lift the smaller one up. He sat the naked boy on his lap bouncing and cooing at him until he stopped crying and planted his thumb in his mouth. The other child moved silently around the room while this went on, gathering the blankets from the floor, dragging John’s duffel to beside the larger bed from where the man had dropped it by the door and then producing two beers to bring to the table.

Bobby managed to regain control of his senses at that point, and thanked the little boy asking his name and how old he was.

“That’s Dean,” John said bouncing the toddler on his knee, “He doesn’t talk. He will be six tomorrow. This here is Sammy. He is a big boy now. He is almost 21 months.”

“Happy Birthday, Dean.” Bobby smiled at Dean. The boy gave him a shy smile back and went to sit on the end of the smaller bed.

Sammy plopped his thumb out of his mouth and began chanting “Dee Dee Dee Dee Dee Dee.”

John held the child out at arm’s length as Dean rushed back over to take him. 

Bobby couldn’t really watch anymore of these poor children without resorting to violence. 

He parted on good terms with Winchester, inviting him to stop at the salvage yard anytime, hoping he could check on how those boys were faring in the future.

He spent the drive home wondering what sort of birthday that little boy would have.

He wondered the same thing this morning in Sioux Falls.

The hunter grapevine all knew that Dean Winchester had been rescued and John had killed his kidnapper. Caleb told Rufus who told Bobby, that John had refused to get medical treatment for his son, saying he wasn’t injured. 

Bobby had old papers in the garage to feed the brazier. When he lifted up the Windom Neighbourhood Newsletter, he turned it over so that the sports page was facing up. Bobby hadn’t bothered to look at that section before and he snatched the paper up just before the flames touched it. There was Sam Winchester’s smiling face holding a soccer ball with three other team-mates. The Winchesters were only an hour’s drive from Sioux Falls and they were in a suspicious location.

Deciding he would never forgive himself if something happened to the boys, Bobby wiped his hands with a rag and made to move to the house to find John Winchester’s latest cell number.

The engine rumble of a ’67 Chevy Impala came through the metal walls of the garage. Then there was the sound of doors slamming and the car moving back down the driveway.

Bobby ran out hoping that John hadn’t thought that the place was empty and driven off.

The Impala disappeared under the salvage yard sign, but when he turned around Sam and Dean were sitting on his porch steps.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

John had not told his sons how long he would be gone when he dropped them at Bobby Singer’s.

Bobby had produced a pie and the keys to a pickup the next day and presented both to a stunned Dean for his sixteenth birthday. 

Sam had teasingly ripped Dean one for giving over half of his own duffel for Sam’s things, and still managing to leave his birthday present in Kate’s house. 

Then Sam laughed as produced two identical leather bracelets which he had bought in Duluth, giving one to Dean and keeping the other for himself. Dean wrapped his hand around his bracelet and spent the day sneaking glances over to the one on his little brother’s wrist.

After a week, John had called from Tennessee saying he wouldn’t be back for a while. Sam insisted on enrolling them both at Sioux Falls High. ‘Uncle’ Bobby got them registered and their credits transferred from Windom.

Dean wrote to Jack, giving him Bobby’s address and received a letter back from Roger telling him he had not forgotten Walter’s request and if Dean needed anything he was to get in touch.

Bobby offered Dean a job giving him a hand in the yard on a Saturday, even though Dean made sure to learn how to look after his pick-up, he didn’t want to be a mechanic and looked for other work. He got pointers from Jack and managed to secure a job re-cataloguing the books in the town library on Saturday mornings. He gave Bobby half his small wage, much to the man’s protests. Bobby then spent that money on things for Dean like a fruit pie or a new shirt.

Dean used the some of the remaining dollars to buy a treat for Sam at the bakery. How could anyone prefer cake to pie?

Then he allowed himself one treat a week... an air freshener for his pick-up, a bottle of cuticle oil, the new Gladiators in Leather novel. He hid the last two in his new hiding place under a floor board in his room.

They settled into a routine. Bobby turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to the boys’ co-dependence on each other. He hoped that they knew they could come and talk to him if they were having problems but he was glad they had each other and it was honest to god a pleasure to have them in the house. 

He could see Dean had been changed by his experiences. The boy was quieter and expressed little interest in the hunts Bobby co-ordinated. He seemed more breakable and strange things made him flinch or shiver, like the oven mitts, (Bobby had to ‘accidently’ put them in the trash and replace with a thick hand towel), and the day Tombstone came on the TV, or when the dimmer switch broke in the bathroom so there was a constant low light and Bobby found the boy washing himself in the kitchen at dawn.

The positives far outweighed the negatives as far as Bobby could see. The boys thrived in Sioux Falls High. Dean had a secret fan-club of middle school girls who only went to the library on Saturday to see him, but he was completely unaware of their intentions. Sam won a mathele contest and made the soccer team. Sioux Falls High didn’t offer Latin so Sam spent an hour every evening learning Latin and other dead languages from Bobby. On Sundays he would spend hours helping Bobby translate old documents while Dean baked something different every week.

John came back at the end of March. He stayed five days, had a huge row with Bobby and disappeared until late April. At that stage he pulled the boys from school and took them to Colorado Springs to hunt a werewolf. Dean snagged the were with a silver tipped arrow while Sam read his history text book in the Impala. He helped John drag the were into the woods and burn it. John clapped him on the back as the body burned; Dean felt nothing, counting to a thousand under his breath as he waited to get back to Sam.

John took them back to Bobby’s so that they could finish the school year, but he tried to persuade Dean on the journey to give up school and come hunting with him. Sam nearly lost the plot in the car, and Dean had to act as peacemaker, trying to calm them both until Sam got his way and Dean was allowed to stay.

John was in Georgia for Sam’s 12th Birthday but he phoned at 1am on 3rd May full of apologies.

When John turned up two weeks into the summer break, it was two weeks after Dean had driven his pick-up to Blue Earth. Bobby rang Pastor Jim as soon as John left Sioux Falls, and by the time John arrived at the church, Dean and Sam had gone camping (in Roger and Jack’s spareroom) for the weekend. John took off early on the Sunday following a lead on a possible demon possession in Maryland.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

It was a hot dusty August day that John Winchester brought a bicycle with training wheels to Windom for his son Adam.

Kate seemed stand-offish with him in the hospital waiting room, and asked him to knock at the house door not to surprise her babysitters.

John ignored Kate’s request bursting through the house to find Adam on Sam’s knee at the kitchen table and Dean stirring a cup of coffee with half of his famous four layer cake on the table.

Kate admitted that Dean and Sam had been there for a week. When John finished his unending lecture about keeping Sam safe and not bringing him back to where there had been a demon, Dean just shrugged and said that Bobby was in Nevada on a case and they had wanted to see Adam. Seeing John trying to control his temper, neither Dean, Sam nor Kate, admitted that the boys had been back to Windom several times.

They had an awkward meal at Burger King (Adam’s choice) but that evening John sat his sons down and told them they would only be returning to Bobby to get their belongings. He insisted they travel with him. He was determined and laid down the Law According to John Winchester in the face of Sam’s protests and Dean’s sullen silence.

They crossed the country in a loop of hunts down through Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma and Arkansas. The school term started and they caught a week of classes in Jackson Tennessee but skipped two weeks as John chased leads on a shape shifter. Sam’s whining about his grade average finally got them a long stay motel room in Boone, North Carolina. 

John had made an effort to leave enough money for his sons. Leaving Boone he drew Dean outside the room and warning him that if he found out that Dean was selling himself he would rip him a new one. Dean protested that he was never going to do that again. John clocked him a fist to the jaw to let the message sink in. Sam had heard the whole thing from inside the paper thin motel room door and vowed that he hated his father as he iced Dean’s jaw.

Dean dealt with the lack of money by getting an after school job cleaning the local cinema when screenings were over for the night. It made him tired in class but he got the leftover popcorn in the machine to bring home for Sam’s lunches. He didn’t worry so much about food for himself. He needed to make every cent last. He wouldn’t be backed into a corner where the only choice was to return to Dean the fifteen year old dirty whore. He was a clean trained sub who let no-one except Sam near him. 

When Patrick Fields, the openly gay Boone basketball team sensation, asked him out, he was happy to decline and return to the motel room to help Sam with his science project. Boone wasn’t as good as Sioux Falls; there was no Bobby, no library job, no trips to Windom, and to Sam’s horror no soccer team, but even that period of normal life for a Winchester came to end too soon, when John blew into their room at 6am on the winter solstice and gave them an hour to get their shit together.

Christmas Day was surreal, as they spent it with the other guests of the haunted Covington Lodge Hotel, George Washington National Forest, Virginia. 

John was getting paid for dealing with the vengeful spirit roaming the woods and the boys enjoyed participating in the holiday season with the other guests. On Christmas night Dean swiped a tray of mulled wine and sneaked into an unused conference room with Sam. They hid under a table-clothed banquet table. Dean revelled in stealing time away from John, and Sam revelled in stealing a kiss from Dean. Dean’s brain froze as his brother’s tongue pressed between his lips. He sighed at the sensation, so longed for and being given freely. When his brain caught up with his bliss, he remembered the mouth exploring his belonged to his drunken twelve year old brother and he pushed Sam away, explaining that Sam was too young and too full of stolen wine. Sam stared at him bleary eyed and wrapped his hand around the back of Dean’s neck pulling him in for a second kiss, but then releasing him and telling Dean that he could think that if he liked, but Sam knew what he wanted. Then Sam left Dean sitting under the table and went to find John. 

That night was the first one when in their bed, Sam’s hand that normally had tucked around Dean’s chest, found its way to rest possessively over Dean’s groin instead.


	9. And so we face our futures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like Windom, I am sure that Winchester VA is a very fine town with a great high school, just using it as a location in my tale.
> 
> Thanks again for all your comments and kudos. <333
> 
> Next and final chapter is a short epilogue.

The Covington ghost’s remains were salted and burned before New Year 1996, and the Winchesters landed in Winchester, near the Maryland border. John left them in a flea ridden room rental and having enrolled them in high school. 

This time Dean was unable to find work, and by the time the five jocks cornered him in the gym, he was too weak from hunger to offer much of a fight. Their hateful taunts and threats were backed up with fists and boots. He used every defence technique of his years of training but they still kicked the living crap out of him and left him curled in a ball having ‘taught his pansy ass’ a lesson. He tried to cheer himself up on the cold bloody tiles, imagining their stunned faces if they had carried out their empty threat to strip him naked for tar and feathering, when they would have found his butt plug. He lay coughing blood until a teacher finally found him. Sam wanted the jocks found and punished. He wanted them charged with assault. He wanted them dead. However the ‘ boys’ were from fine upstanding families and Sam had to settle for calling John back from his hunt in Delaware to collect them from the local hospital.

Dean’s seventeenth birthday was spent moping around a double wide trailer nursing his broken ribs and cheekbone and his busted knee in Lewes, Delaware. John surprised him by remembering his birthday giving him a cherry pie with a candle, the Impala, and a lecture on looking more manly. He was able to block out the lecture with his joy at getting his hands on the Impala. She was his. He wanted to get back to Bobby Singer to learn how to care for her. He wanted to take Sam on a ride down a long deserted highway with AC/DC blaring out the windows. 

John took off the next day in his new truck, bought with the cleared Covington Lodge Hotel check. 

Sam didn’t like the school in Lewes. It was small and clique-ish and for once he found it hard to settle in with his classmates. 

Dean smouldered in the claustrophobic trailer while Sam was in class. He found old feelings of being caged and trapped rising in his chest. 

One day when the February sun never brightened the sky beyond an eerie twilight, Sam came home to find Dean wedged in the trailer’s tiny shower, sticking his braced knee out of the bathroom and holding a sponge bag, crying that he could be good.

He thanked God that hadn’t been John who found Dean having his breakdown. 

Having his own mini-panic attack on how to help Dean, Sam noticed how thin Dean had gotten and how the hateful tattoo glowed on his brother’s wet skin. Sam settled for stripping off his own clothes and squeezing into the tiny space with his brother. He wrapped his arms around Dean and rocked him against him. He called his brother Dee and rubbed circles into his back. That seemed to help. Dean calmed down. He unzipped the sponge bag and handed it to Sam. 

Sam had wondered over the months, what Dean had kept in the bag, which he had glimpsed in Dean’s duffel, and knew it had been under Bobby’s floorboards.

Taking being passed the bag as an invitation, Sam delved into the hidden items.

There was a pink shirt, too small for Dean. He recognised it from the photo of Dean in O’Hare airport with Walter Goodman. There was the mother of pearl box that Dean had brought his amulet home in. There were two pink flannel mitts, like Sam had seen the beautician use on Dean’s hands when he got the manicure in Boone. Finally there was a paper photograph wallet. He opened the folder. There was the picture of Adam’s fourth birthday. Sam smiled at the memory, glad they had a picture of the Elmo obsessed snivelling twit. Then there was the picture of Sam, Dean and Jack, that Roger had taken during their summer weekend camping in Dean’s friends‘ spare room. Sam stopped smiling when the next photos were clearly of Mexico and finally he held a handful of photographs that he wanted to salt and burn. Dean had gone rigid in the aura of Sam’s rage as he flicked through the pictures and back again and again. The pictures were of Walter laughing with Dean at a swanky restaurant, Walter toasting Dean with a glass of wine, Walter kissing Dean’s cheek, Walter with his tongue stuck down Dean’s throat while Dean’s hand fisted into Walter’s jacket lapel. 

“Dee why have you kept these?”

“Are you going to destroy them?” Dean whispered with his head slung so low his chin was resting on his chest.

“Dee, answer me, why have you carried these around with you?”

“They are all I have left of him.” Dean sobbed.

“What his mark on your skin isn’t enough, the way you wear that piece of plastic up your butt every day, the way you never look at anyone, the way I come home to find you curled up in the shower today?” Sam knew his pitch was rising, that the anger was showing. He hoped Dean knew he wasn’t angry with him.

“What do you want me to do, Sammy? I hated him. I hated the way he wouldn’t let me go home to you. I hated when he touched me and made me enjoy it while he forced me to have sex with him. I hated the way I couldn’t do anything for myself, even take a piss Sammy.” 

Sam began to rub Dean’s back again, “It’s OK, Dee. He is gone. I just don’t understand why you wanted to keep the photographs.”

“I hated but I loved him too. I know it is wrong. That I am twisted and broken. He loved me and took care of me. He gave me gifts, a beautiful home, and taught me new things. He showed me how to enjoy my body. He took me away from Dad’s disappointment with me. He took me away from Dad’s anger. There were no more back alley blow jobs tasting of urine and BO, no more hunger, damp motels, and new schools. I had nothing to worry about, no reason to be scared, as he took all my worries and fixed them, even letting me see you when he found out how much you meant to me. He made me feel worth something.”

“Dee, jeez, you are not worthless. You are everything to me. Everything. Do you hear me?”

Dean nodded and looked at Sam.

“The jocks in Virginia... they said I was a worthless gay fuck... a diseased fairy... a dirty pansy cockwhore... a pretty lipped cocksucker... ”

“Don’t Dee. Stop repeating those hate words,” Sam pulled Dean tighter into his arms, “Don’t let what those close minded bastards said get to you. You are wonderful Dee. You don’t know how beautiful I think you are. I know you say I’m too young to know, but I do know.”

Dean hiccupped and dropped his gaze to the items on spread across their laps, “What are you going to do with my treasures?”

“Why don’t we decide together? Do you want a shirt that is too small for you?”

“No. It was only to wrap everything up.”

“Do you truly need to hold on to the pictures of Goodman?”

“I suppose not. It’s just they were of a happy night, but maybe remembering that night brings back the other times too. No. Sammy you can get rid of them.” Dean said his voice strong at his decision.

“What about the other photos, Dee?”

“I’d like to keep the ones of us, and the one of Puppy-Jack?”

“Is that Jack?” Sam dived into the scattered pictures and pulled out the photo of Dean walking Puppy around the pool. He examined it in detail, staring at the Puppy gear and the way Dean held the leash loosely in his hand. Dean twitched as Sam’s wood poked him in the side, “That is sooo hot.”

“Dude, get a room with your Puppy Kink!” 

“Sorry, sorry, Dee,” Sam twisted his body so that his half hard dick wasn’t prodding Dean, “I just had never seen Jack in full Puppy mode. I think it is hot when Roger has him on a collar and leash but that photo is awesome.”

“I’m not doing it. I’m no puppy.” Dean protested.

“Hey Dean, I’m not asking you. I would never ask you to do something you wouldn’t be comfortable with. But we will keep this picture with the other two of us. I like the amulet box, did Walter give it to you?”

“Yeah, he did but I would like to keep it. It reminded me of you when I was in Chicago and Cancun. About the mitts, I want to do more than keep them.” Dean said the last part so quietly Sam had to strain to hear him.

“What Dean? What do you want?” Sam asked concerned.

“While I was here earlier, kinda lost in the bad memories, you know, I imagined you coming home and rubbing my back and telling me it would be OK, and then I’d put out my hands and you’d slip them on me and zip them up.” Dean held his breath and waited for Sam’s answer.

Sam took a moment to think about what Dean was asking of him without making it a request. He twisted his lips and thought of what Dean might need now.

“On condition you rip them off yourself if there is any sign of Dad, and on the second condition that this is only when you need it, not a regular or everyday thing.”

“Yes Sam, I understand. Thank you.” Dean smiled and held is hands out palms down, and Sam had a flash of his brother doing the same thing outside the Milligans’ back door the day they got him back. He didn’t comment on it, but he understood now that Dean must have been very distressed that dawn, and had been asking Sam to do this for him then. 

Sam zipped the mittens over Dean’s hands and then he pulled him to his feet and brought him to the bedroom. He helped Dean get dressed making sure he put on his fisherman knit sweater to warm him up. 

Sam had to cook dinner, which meant frozen pizzas and cans of pink lemonade.

“Dean, I see those mittens mean I have to do all the cooking and cleaning. They are coming off before we go to bed!”

Dean threw his head back and laughed, and Sam chuckled along with him and threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders, surprising him with a quick light kiss on his fractured cheek.

Dean’s knee and ribs were healed up enough to take to the road in a few weeks. The Impala with Sam as passenger followed John’s truck to Point Pleasant, New Jersey. Schools were on spring break and they met up with Caleb to help him with his sea-fae problem. Sam, and Dean with his gamy knee, were relegated to library and research duty until John and Caleb burned the monster on a beach bonfire. Before the embers had died Caleb was on the road. 

It was weird having John living in the cheapest Point Pleasant motel with them. At least all the rooms were queens. They had two budget rooms at the back of the building with an alley-view instead of a sea-view. John decorated his wall in his own fashion with potential hunts and leads on the demon. He took off for a few short hunts but they stayed in Jersey until their exams ended in June. Sam received a letter of commendation from the headmaster to help him in his next school, and Dean got enough credits to move on to 11th Grade.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The Winchester Luck/curse struck again in Connecticut.

On 30th July under a full moon, Sam, Dean and John were stalking a werewolf in the Devil’s Den Nature Preserve near Blackrock turnpike in Connecticut. All three carried silver bullets and sliver tipped knives. Dean had his crossbow with silver tipped arrows.

Thirteen year old Sam had an instant to celebrate his first monster kill, before he realised that his brother was trapped underneath the werewolf’s dead body. Dean was unconscious with bloody claw slashes across his left thigh and his right knee newly re-busted. 

John crashed through the bushes and stripped Dean with military precision looking for a were-bite. John crowed with victory that Dean was unbitten and Sam had taken down the monster. All Sam could see was the bloom of blood on Dean’s shoulder where he had been impaled on one of his own arrows, and the sickening angle of Dean’s right leg.

“Dad, Dean needs a hospital.”

“No Sam. I have no clean health insurance ID, used them when he got himself beaten up. We’ll patch him up.”

“No Dad, listen he needs a doctor.”

“Sam, take your brother’s legs, I’ll take his shoulders.”

Dean screamed from the pressure on his knee and his shoulder wound and then passed out again.

“Dad! He needs pain meds. Don’t you have the emergency cash you won in Atlantic City? We could get him to an urgent care clinic?”

Only when Dean was laid out in the back of the truck did John relent and tell Sam to find a clinic. The one in Norwalk opened at 8am and they were parked outside at 7.45am. Dean was conscious but stoically trying to stop from groaning in agony. Sam told him to keep pressure on his shoulder and tried to use his hands under Dean’s thigh to take the weight off his knee.

The nurse took one look at Dean and took him ahead of all the morning appointments. John explained there had been an animal attack on his survival vacation with his sons, and handed over a bundle of his casino winnings.

After an hour, John left Sam in the waiting room saying he was going to get them breakfast. Knowing John was gone back to clean up the kill and wouldn’t return for hours, Sam got to work.

He rang Roger White and explained the situation. 

He rang Bobby Singer. 

Finally he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, before approaching the nurse and asking her to call CPS.

By the time John returned Dean’s injuries had been stitched up and he had been transferred to a private hospital in New Canaan to be treated for his anorexia and Complex-PSTD. Sam was in Bridgeport applying to be an emancipated teen with Dean as his guardian, with the help of a social worker who knew a contact of Bobby Singer.

John barged into to the CPS office demanding that Sam be allowed to leave with him. Only to receive a piece of his middle son’s mind across the desks of the social workers. He called Sam to come with him.

Sam stood from behind the desk he had been waiting at. He went toe to toe with his father.

“I’m not going with you Dad. You will get Dean killed, or so badly injured it won’t matter, and I won’t allow it. It stops. I am sick of living like a hobo. I am sick and tired of not getting a proper education and not having a home. We are staying in Connecticut. Dean is going to get the treatment you should have gotten him two years ago and we are going to finish high school and we are not leaving.”

John looked crushed, “Sam, don’t be dumb, you are thirteen. What will you do for money? Where will you live? How will you stay safe?”  


“I am not a baby. When Dean was my age you left me with him for weeks in Fort Worth with no money.”

“Sam, stop, people can hear you.”

“I don’t care. Dean is in a specialist hospital, in case you were actually interested in how your son is. I have talked to his doctor and they have admitted him for a week to stabilise him and get him to eat properly. Then he gets to live onsite in a group house for a month, and the CPS is trying to get me to be allowed to stay with him.”

“And where do you think you are going until then? You haven’t thought this out Sam.”

“I’m going to the Connecticut Children’s Centre for neglected children in East Windsor, until I can stay with Dean. When Dean is released from hospital we can get assisted housing in New Canaan and the hospital outreach program will help Dean find a job that allows him continue his outpatients’ treatment and I can go to school.”

“Sam this is fantasy, where will you live? You can’t be emancipated without being able to support yourself. Stop this nonsense now! That is an order.” John fumed.

Sam crossed his arms, “You don’t understand, Dad. We are not coming with you. I am going to take care of Dean and get him well. He will never, to you hear me, never, go hungry for me again.”

Sam was shouting now and the social worker who had been fascinated enough to let the argument run, got up to place a hand on Sam’s arm. He didn’t feel the re-assuring touch and continued, “We will be fine. New Canaan High is in the top five schools in the USA. Dean is in the best private adolescent psychiatric hospital in the North East. The social housing in New Canaan is like a luxury crib, compared to where we have lived. You see I have been busy, Dad. I know what I am doing. I hope you will come to visit us when you can, but this is it. I called Roger White and he has agreed to use the trust fund Walter Goodman left Dean to pay for his treatment and set us up here.”

“His what? Dean’s trust fund? His fucking trust fund? That paedophile cannot have been allowed to leave his victim a trust fund. Why didn’t I know about this?” John spat at Sam, while two security guards warily approached the raging man.

“Well I suppose Dean thought you won’t like it. Or might use the money to buy silver bullets and curse boxes. Or that you wouldn’t let him have his emergency safety net money.”

“Damn right I wouldn’t have allowed it. I am not allowing it now. I am his father and he is still 17. I am giving that money to the National Sexual Assault Hotline; this family will not touch a cent of it.”

“You can’t. Roger White is the trustee.”

“Roger, your teacher from Windom? How is he the trustee?”

“Roger was Dean’s tutor in Chicago. You can’t touch the money. I have decided we are using it, all of it, to get Dean better.” Sam pushed his shoulders back and John saw the couple of inches his son had put on in the last year being used to try and intimated his own father.

“Sam this stops now. You don’t want to live in a glorified orphanage, or have your brother committed to a mental hospital, or live on your own with Dean.”

“Yes Dad, I do. I want all of those things and they are going to happen. I think you should leave now, and I’ll see you in family court the day after tomorrow for my emancipation hearing, if you show up.”

John leaned towards Sam, but the security guards pulled him back. He put his hands up in the air defeated and backed out of the offices.


	10. Epilogue: A letter to a friend

Palo Alto, Ca.

September 2001.

 

Hi Jack.

How is puppy life, Dude?

Sam and I swung by Sioux Falls and Windom on our road trip from New Canaan. Thought Baby (my car!) might over heat from all the rubber we burned. Sorry we missed you and Master Roger. I was as happy as pie to pick up your last letters at Bobby’s. 

I promise to be better about replying. Sam wants me to get an e-mail account. Have you got one? 

We met up with John in Gary Indiana. He was there on a job. It was awkward. Remember the letter I wrote you about the week after Sam’s birthday? That was the last time we saw him. He doesn’t understand. I don’t want to bore you again with Daddy issues. He couldn’t look when Sam put his hand on mine in the diner and I could see him biting back a comment when I checked if Sam was okay with my food order. He is trying now at least. Sometimes I wish he would take a leaf out of Bobby’s book and fake oblivion with a side dose of parental concern. I doubt we will see much of John, but you never know he might surprise us.

Do you like the photo? It is from our motel in Vegas. I won the cowboy hat on a side game with some college guys from Texas. Any chance of one of you in return? I could have forgotten what you look like by now.... ha ha! Mostly though I got Sam to take the pic so you could see my improvement. I got my tat doctored as you can see. It was Sam’s 18th birthday present. We went into New York City for the day and acted like total dweebs doing all the tourist sites. Finally Sam took me to Ink Greenwich and got the S added to the circle. SW in the O as you can just about make out. Sometimes I trace the circle with my finger.

I got a gig on the grill at a steakhouse near Sam’s campus. The catering diploma is of some use (grin). Not the cooking we dreamed of, yet, but the last few years changed things a lot for me and Sam. 

Made us both realise that we are right for each other. I swear I kept my hands off him until he was 16. Remember how all those years ago at Christmas you asked me if I would do it if he asked me?

It was Labour Day and we had gone to Long Island for the day. I know, I told you already but indulge me Dude. We had sand in our hair and in between our toes. I’ll never sleep on sandy sheets again without thinking of it.

For your information, Sam is hung like a porn star.

We don’t do the scene much, Sam is busy settling into Stanford, but there is a club in San Francisco that we go to if Sam wants to play. Maybe Roger knows of it, it is the one with the mural of national monuments behind the bar. We could all go if you want to come on vacation to see us. Sam says it is OK and you are invited.

Did you get the results from the librarian qualification you were studying for? Hope that Roger got tenure at Windom High too.

Do you ever see Adam? He must be in Roger’s school now.

We rented Gladiator on our road trip. Couldn’t picture Russell Crowe as Primus or Septimus, but Joaquin Phoenix, yeah man!

Write back soon. I’ll put Sam’s cell at the end of the letter so that Roger can call him about coming here. Please think about it. I’ll bake!

Visit soon.

Your friend, 

_Dean_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thats it folks.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your kudos, comments and encouragement.
> 
> Thanks for staying the course of my dark fic and reading Pretty/Dee's journey.


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